Exile of the Swarm: The War under Iron Skies
by Howling Din
Summary: Exiled by her mother the Overqueen and made a prisoner of the Dominion, the half-human Saraslha will be utilized against the Terran nation's enemies alongside unlikely allies as an invasion from Earth approaches the Koprulu Sector. (Sequel to "Princess of the Swarm.")
1. Saraslha's Parole

**Special thanks goes to Fangtom for idea sharing, literary contributions and the use of his OCs and ideas.**

www fanfiction net /u/6438087/

**And to Consort for the use of his OC, as well as his kind words of encouragement.**

www fanfiction net /u/8072559/

* * *

**Part 1: Before the Storm**

**Chapter 1: Saraslha's Parole**

"_Koprulu Military Doctrines" by Alexander von Falkenhausen_

_Subject: James Raynor_

_A rebel commander since before the fall of the Confederacy of Man and until the conclusion of the Second Great War, James Raynor was a man whose allegiance changed often, never becoming tied for too long to any major power and remaining on the fringes of military history until the Second Great War._

_Not a military genius by any stretch of the term, James Raynor only utilized the tried and tested strategies of any given period in which he fought. He nonetheless displayed a remarkable capacity for range-of-the-moment decision making, being able to deduce in the heat of battle whether to commit his forces, when to pull away, when to outright flee, and most remarkably, when to remain in place and watch the enemy. His small rebel army's record of landing in hostile engagement after hostile engagement, and always living to fight another day no matter how one-sided the battle against them can be attributed to Raynor's exceptional tactical intuition._

_The Second Battle of Char was a decisive engagement of the Second Great War which has a full chapter of this book dedicated to analyzing it. It was in this battle which James Raynor entered the main spotlight of Koprulu military history, and in which his other notable trait comes to light: His ability to lead._

_Dominion soldiers who believed Raynor to be a criminal and terrorist rallied to his rebel forces on Char's surface after the disastrous opening phase of the Dominion Fleet's invasion. This combined army of hated enemies was unified under Raynor's leadership, and cut a bloody swath through the Queen of Blades' hive clusters in key moments, maneuvers and command decisions under intense pressure which saved the Terran invasion from complete disaster and secured a viable foothold on the zerg hive world's surface._

_In the final phase of the invasion, a significantly reduced Terran army, at this point fully under Raynor's command fortified their position a small distance from Char's Central Hive, where they would face the unmitigated wrath of the Swarm. There is no debate that this battle would have been lost if not for the high morale of the Terran army, and also no debate that their courage in the face of overwhelming odds is owed to Raynor's charisma. Whether it was through the power of his name, his words to them or both, James Raynor brought out the best in those men and women that day. Because of him, they fought like lions._

_In conclusion, the exploits of James Raynor and his small rebel force contain profitable lessons on the capacity of a small, mobile and expertly led army to make the life of a stronger force difficult, and of the powerful boon, or crippling detriment morale can be for terran armies._

* * *

**Dominion Core Fleet, Command ship Hyperion**

Admiral Matthew Horner was in the midst of a video call with the warden of New Folsom Prison. The topic of their conversation was one specific prisoner which, even in the Admiral's overbooked schedule, he had an interest in micromanaging. "My questions are in regard to Prisoner zero-zero-one-five."

"_Right, that one…" _The Warden frowned as he opened a page on his own computer, then spoke in a rustic, though nonetheless apt and coherent manner. _"We got her a month ago, from an unmarked dropship ahead of the DCF Icarus which was supposed to be bringing her in originally. What'd you want to know for details?"_

"Has she been involved in violence with other inmates?"

"_Every time she was let in the yard."_

He frowned at this. "Did she initiate these fights?"

"_Well…" _The Warden's face twisted. _"I think, sir, that you'd benefit from some context: With the culture we got here, if you stand out in this place, it doesn't matter how tough, or… alien." _He looked off when he said this_, "…you look, some psycho with a shiv and nothin' to lose is gonna have a go at ya when your back's turned. Prisoner Fifteen started a few fights for sure, but I've got no idea what threats were made or stabbings planned beforehand- and trust me, that kind of conversation's a regular thing here. My personal opinion is she was puttin' 'em down for self-preservation."_

"And… what gives you that opinion, Warden?" From what Horner had just heard, perhaps the transfer he was considering would be imprudent…

"'_Cuz she ain't killed nobody."_

This gave him pause, his eyes shifted back to the Warden, becoming attentive again from his relaxed posture.

"_Now, she's a savage for sure; broke a poor feller's arm that tried to cut her hair. But every time she stops before finishin' 'em."_

"I see… Has she been to the mines?"

"_Ten fourteen-hour shifts in the month she's been here. The complaints I get from the guards and 'techs don't say nothin' about her." _He eyed his screen. _"'Says in this report that she keeps her mouth shut and does what she's told. 'Round here that's glowin' praise."_

Horner mulled this over, absorbed in his private thoughts. What would the Emperor think if he authorized the transfer? Perhaps the prisoner would have been moved out of purgatory too soon in his view? November Terra personally knew Prisoner #0015 and would be willing to facilitate the transfer aboard her now untraceable, extralegal ship, but he wouldn't base his decision on that simple convenience.

Then his mind went to the spy that was recently caught, right under the nose of the Palace, and the frightening implications of the political body which the Intel Service had become increasingly certain the spy worked for. With this, Horner could guess what the Emperor would think; he'd be pleased that the high-potency asset Prisoner #0015 could become was one step closer to being fielded against the Dominion's enemies.

"Alright," Horner said to the Warden. "At precisely eight hundred hours standard time, an unmarked dropship with friendly IFF will land on platform two of your starport. Prisoner zero-zero-one-five is to be turned over to the crew of this dropship without any questions. Is that understood?"

"_Aye, sir."_ The Warden nodded. _"She gonna be sent to a different facility, then?"_

"Yes, and that's all I can say on the matter."

* * *

**The Haven Republic**

"Prisoner Fifteen…" Constance, a 20 year old girl with dark skin, messy brunette hair and yellow eyes voiced the title aloud after swallowing a mouthful of water, lounging with cat-like relaxation in a rec room chair. "Our little psi academy here in the boonies is getting a convict?"

"That's the word, apparently…" A skinny young woman with shoulder-length blonde hair was standing at the counter, cutting a sizable chunk off a leftover ham. She spoke with a crisply audible, though still gentle tone. "On a different topic, I think Marcus is plotting to ambush you this evening. I counted two other recruits in on it."

"Well fuck Marcus," Constance droned. "I kick his ass in a few sparring matches, and suddenly I'm the centerpiece of his life."

"It probably has to do with your taunting and humiliating him in front of everybody…"

"Come on, Casa." She leaned forward in her chair. "He's a sore loser who can't shut up and accept defeat."

"Marcus is a good fighter, from what I've seen…" Casa had a giant slice of ham on her plate which she took to the table.

"Sure he is, but I'm better, and he does everything in his power to deny that. If there's one thing I can't stand it's dishonesty." Still relaxed, she took another gulp of water.

"Along with eight squintillion other things you can't stand…" Casa took a giant bite off her ham slice, not bothering to add anything to the meat or use silverware.

"What was that?" Constance said quickly.

"I said that you're irritable, and dare I say a tad bitter." Casa said in the same crisply audible, gentle voice with food in her mouth.

A pause as Constance stared with an on setting scowl. At Casa's unaffected expression, Constance sagged and continued, "This Prisoner Fifteen that's coming here! The Dominion finds all different ways to shit on Haven, and now we're taking their convicts."

"Maybe you'll be besties." Casa said in a fast, low voice with a snobbish expression.

"Or maybe I'll kick the shit out of her and she'll join Marcus' loser gang."

"The people in charge have decided that our fledgling program is the best place for her. Remember the Neo Hybrid Crisis in Augustgrad? It was all over the news for awhile."

"I certainly do," Constance's eyes lit up. "The Hierarch and his entourage kicked that thing's ass while the Core Fleet was bumbling over itself."

"Right, sure they were…" Casa's eyes rolled. "Anyway, Prisoner Fifteen was involved in that incident, and they're saying her transfer here is a sort of pseudo parole."

"When does she arrive?"

Casa just shrugged. "I think… Nineteen hundred hours this evening."

"The evening it is, then." Constance said with a forced cheerfulness. "I'mma meet 'n greet her at the landing pad. Do you want to come, Casa?"

"Pass." She waved it off. "I run the marksmanship class in the evening. Can't have the green recruits be unable to shoot straight, can we?" Casa's voice was gentle and unassuming as she said this. She took another hefty bite of ham.

"Suit yourself." Constance rose and headed out of the rec room.

"Marcus is waiting to attack you down that hallway." Casa called out through a stuffed mouth.

"Let him try." Constance continued down that hallway.

* * *

She stood on the dark, quiet metallic floor on two feet, with two arms hanging naturally at her sides. Biological armor covered her on most surfaces, and carried a wood-like texture with a black grain. An orange coloration accentuated by maroon and grey covered her entire being. In place of hair she had nerve cords like those which would be found on a Broodmother, and a skirt of webbed appendages protruded from her waist in a contracted state where it wouldn't inhibit her walking. Her name was Saraslha, the experimental offspring of Overqueen Zagara of the Zerg Swarm, and she was an exile from the Swarm, as well as a prisoner of the Terran Dominion.

Saraslha was alone in the hold of a dropship in transit. Dry human blood was crusted on her knuckles from punches she'd thrown at another prisoner half an hour ago, and places on her neck and side bore rapidly healing bruises from being struck with a metal pipe. It had been a regular occurrence, fighting with other prisoners, and curling her clawed fingers into a fist turned her hand into a nonlethal weapon. Humans were a touch more resilient than she gave them credit for, as everybody she fought ended up surviving.

She was leaving New Folsom behind, having been told that she was being 'transferred,' and nothing more. Of all the things she'd been subjected to in that place, the least unpleasant had been being sent to the mines. There had been something vaguely welcoming about the grinding of a hand drill on stone, the fear of death as fresh tunnels and chambers were constantly dug and expanded with dubious degrees of stability, and the order it all inevitably fell to as rail track was lain and broken-down stone was shipped out, with the clear and agreed-upon goal of finding and extracting the ore which contained high-value catalytic elements. Perhaps the chaotic environment which fell to order thanks to one guiding rule had reminded her of home.

Back to the present, the Dropship landed, and its cargo hold opened. Standing on a hangar floor, alone in plain view was November Terra, the Terran Dominion's deadliest ghost, and leader of an extralegal military outfit comprised of the nation's most elite soldiers.

Upon seeing her, Saraslha walked down the dropship ramp and stopped right in front of her. Neither of them spoke.

In this staring contest, it was Saraslha who broke the silence, "So, did you… ah… reconsider my offer to become a Broodmother?"

"No," she said plainly.

Silence, the stare-down continued, then Saraslha's face started cracking up, "maybe I should have wrapped myself in a wood shell before boarding your ship again. You know, give you and your 'techs extra work like last time."

"I think my crew has better things to do than operate on a bratty princess." Nova's face was making an effort not to show levity.

"There we go…" Saraslha said with pleasant release. "That got you talking, didn't it? 'Thought I'd have to wave a classified data stick in front of your face and throw it across the room."

"Are you calling me a dog?" Nova suddenly had an annoyed frown.

Saraslha had a smug, condescending expression. "The best doggy there ever was."

She sighed, smiling but also shaking her head as she turned around. "Come on, walk and talk." She headed for a door on the wall opposite the hangar's atmospheric barrier, Saraslha followed. "I assume your first _serious _question is where you're being transferred."

"Let's start with the 'why.'"

"Very well." The powered door opened automatically for them and they headed into a corridor. "Tell me what you know about the United Earth Directorate."

"An empire centered on the Terran homeworld, which is a very, very long distance away from the Koprulu Sector."

"Their military power is presumed to be colossal, and there's a significant number of unknown variables regarding what technological advancements they've made since the Brood War and to what degree it diverges from our own."

A broadcast over the ship's intercom, _"All hands prepare for warp space jump, in T-minus ten…"_

"Hold on a minute…" Nova stopped walking and turned to lean back against the wall, gripping the railing. "Saraslha, do what I'm doing."

She complied, leaning back against the opposite wall.

"…_Three, two, one—"_

Vibration, and then an abrupt acceleration forward was felt as she ship entered Warp Space. Once its jump was fully executed, the ship's interior became kinetically stable again.

"Allow me to hazard a guess," Saraslha stood straight again as they both continued walking. "At some uncertain but iminent time, the United Earth Directorate is coming here?"

"That's the assumption, based on what Military Command knows and has shared with me." Nova led them on a right turn in the corridors, where there were two crewmen coming from the opposite direction. They both stepped aside and saluted her as she passed. Nova continued speaking to Saraslha, "Horner and the other brass want you ready to be fielded against them, but your loyalty is still in doubt."

Saraslha could sense that she expected her to say something, "I'll… do whatever I'm told." Her eyes looked down. "The Terran Dominion is my swarm now."

Nova's eyes had been peering at her as they walked, and now looked ahead again. "You're being transferred to Haven. A distant, human-inhabited world whose system lies on the border with what's considered Protoss space."

"I've read about Haven on the holonet. They're a republic, if memory serves, with an agrarian economy and only one major city. During the End War they became a protectorate under the Dominion. "

"Correct. It was originally formed by an amalgamation of refugees and fugitives during the Second Great War, and since then their population has skyrocketed through immigration. Haven is a nation state, they've recently started their own program for training the psionically gifted, and that's where you're going."

"I don't need psionic training from a human. My mediocre capacity is pretty set in stone."

"But you do need to show that you can work with humans and follow orders. New Folsom was not a viable environment for gauging that."

"I understand that, but it still feels like a waste of time."

"That's the Terran way of life, Saraslha; the way of life you chose a month ago. You have to suck it up and do as you're told."

"And I'll do that, because it's what I said I'd do when I came under the Dominion's wing. It's still perfectly good time that I could be spending on my military studies or projects."

"You can still spend your time doing that. Command doesn't care what you do on Haven, only that you work cordially with the human psychics, and don't cause trouble or try to leave the planet. That's the main locus of your evaluation: You're going to have plenty of opportunity to escape."

"The Judge said I'm not supposed to have any kind of parole."

"The Judge's ruling doesn't matter now, because the Emperor says you're a soldier. He has the constitutional power to press any convict into military service for the duration of their prison sentence. You're being sent to resocialization, not parole."

A crooked smile on Saraslha's face. "And I take it somebody will be on call to chase me down and rope me up if I do make a run for it?"

Nova rolled her eyes. "I'm not allowed to answer that question. Though if you do try to leave the planet, it's straight back to New Folsom."

"And I'll have no chance to take part in the coming conflict."

Nova snickered at this, "yeah, that's right. Behave yourself or it's no more conscription for you."

"Should I go in a human disguise? I've been practicing gene modding on myself and cosmetics are super easy."

"You'll go as you. Haven has had a population of rehabilitated infested since before the End War. The people there are used to seeing humanoid zerg who can talk to them."

"Rehabilitated infested..? How the hell could that be?"

"Sometime just before the End War, a scientist named Hanson and her team developed a modified T-Killer cell that shields a person's mental faculties from the Hyper Evolutionary Virus. They still have to live with their infestation, and the degree to which it salvaged individuals varied immensely, but it's not contagious and a lot of them are no longer a danger to others." Nova continued speaking as the walked, "This 'solution' was shared with the Dominion in exchange for military aid during the End War, a chain of negotiations which ended with Haven becoming a protectorate."

They reached the bridge of Nova's ship, a very spacious area with an almost amphitheater-like layout. The surroundings which were visible through its angled, wall-sized viewing ports indicated that the ship was still in Warp Space, headed to a very distant point.

* * *

**The following evening, Haven Republic Starport**

The ramp came down from Nova's dropship, and she was the first to disembark. Saraslha was asked to remain in the hold out of sight until she'd talked to someone she saw during approach. Long minutes passed by, Saraslha's ears picked up a conversation just outside the ramp, but it was muffled to her by the noise made by the dropship's idling engines. Saraslha crouched, bringing her ears closer to the metal floor, and some choice lines became audible:

"So I take it your training is progressing well here?" The voice was Nova's.

"Instructor Mullen's been a huge help on the quirks of human psionics, and Uncle William teaches me advanced fighting techniques. I'm proud to say I've become a weapon." The voice was a young woman's, and unfamiliar to Saraslha.

"And how is your uncle holding together?"

"He's content. Spends a lot of time at his smithy making low-tech weapons and armor. He gets out a lot and isn't near as much of a shut-in as he used to be."

"Alright… I guess I can leave him alone." Nova said to the other person outside the ramp. "I'm here to drop off a new trainee."

"Yeah, the convict, right?"

"Correct." Nova switched to telepathy, directed at Saraslha, _"Saraslha, come on down."_

As she walked down, Saraslha got a look at the person Nova spoke to. A young woman of around 20 years, with short brunette hair, dark skin and yellow eyes, dressed in dirt stained blue pants and a flanel overshirt that was at least 2 sizes too large, making it appear baggy. She looked like somebody who lived on a farm, wore hand-me-downs, and didn't have time to clean up after finishing with chores. When this girl saw Saraslha, she became tense.

"Constance, meet Saraslha. Saraslha, this is Constance Hai—"

Constance burst into motion, coming at Saraslha in a swift but controlled dash. A 2-foot metal blade was unsheathed from the concealment of her baggy overshirt, and she swiped it down into Saraslha's abdomen.

Saraslha saw this, and backstepped the sweeping slash of the blade.

"Agent Hai, stand down!" Nova ordered.

She didn't stand down, or react to Nova at all. Saraslha saw bloodlust in Constance's yellow eyes as she made another swift slash with her blade, planting her footing with the same motion and forcing Saraslha back further.

The next slash would come from a new angle with coordinated timing, Saraslha made a third backstep, evading harm again.

The present situation, what Saraslha would or wouldn't be permitted to do, and Constance's attack pattern, these things rushed through Saraslha's mind and were rapidly, soberly processed. Somebody definitely taught this angry farm girl how to fight, but she'd neglected to gauge her opponent.

The fourth slash came from overhead, and Saraslha shot into a planned motion, stepping forward and raising her forearm to catch the blade at a high point while its momentum remained relatively weak.

Its sharp edge buried into her carapace and became stuck. With this she yanked that arm and Constance's blade backward, causing her to stumble. In the same motion and split second, Saraslha's other fist swung and connected with Constance's jaw. Constance's free right hand had lunged a previously hidden knife to Saraslha's cheek when she stumbled, but the force of Saraslha's punch connecting reduced the knife's stab to a poke. Constance stumbled backward, letting go of the long blade.

Saraslha's aggression calmed as she watched the violent human quickly get her bearings and adopt a defensive stance with her knife. Saraslha absently grabbed the long blade, still buried in her arm, and wrestled it out of her wood-like carapace as blood briefly gushed from the wound before clotting.

A gunshot. Nova had unslung her rifle from her shoulder and the bullet ricocheted off the floor between them. _"That's enough!" _She exclaimed telepathically to both of them. "Constance, what the hell has gotten into you?"

Constance reined back her own aggression, standing straight. She gazed intensely at Saraslha while half-turned away. Her jaw was visibly broken. "Apologies, ma'am," she said to Nova with an altered voice. "It was instinct: I saw a zerg, and deemed it a threat." She grabbed her own head with both hands, proceeding to try to straighten her broken jaw.

"That's not why." Saraslha said. "The whole reason you came to this starport was to screw with the new arrival; you weren't aiming for any of my vitals." Saraslha looked directly into Constance's golden yellow eyes. "When you saw what I was, you decided to make it more hardcore. After all: Nobody briefed you on this zerg being a friendly, you couldn't be held responsible for cutting me up, am I right?"

"Ooh, aren't you insightful?" Constance said sarcastically through her still-bent jaw.

"Let's cut the crap…" Saraslha said, exasperated. She tossed Constance's blade to the floor where it landed at her feet with a clang. "Who did my race kill, and what did those people mean to you?"

Constance twitched. "Piss off, zerg. You're not my fucking therapist." She bent down, picked up her blade and began wiping the blood off with a grease-stained rag from her pocket.

"Constance," Nova said tensely, walking close to her. "What has your uncle been teaching you about picking fights?"

She looked off, "Not to do it."

"Good," Nova said, looking past Constance to the distance; the lights of a smaller town nearly 20 kilometers down a steep mountain road from the starport's corresponding city. "He's going to know what you did just now, and I'll leave it to him to decide your punishment.

"Crap…" Constance muttered.

"Saraslha," Nova turned to her. "I've been keeping an eye on Constance since she was very young, and I apologize on her behalf."

"All is forgiven." Saraslha had a detached smile, then she made eye contact with Constance, "I actually rather enjoyed that little scuffle."

Constance's eyes came slightly alive at this. "Well it was nice meeting the new recruit, and learning that she's a disgusting zerg pigdog." She turned and walked away with a slight swagger. "I think I'mma head home now."

Once she was gone, Saraslha and Nova headed toward the door to a vertical lift. "So…" Saraslha trailed. "Constance attends the same institution they're sticking me into?"

"Yeah, and based on what her uncle has told me about her mindset, she'll definitely try to fight you again, though not in a way that'd get her arrested. The probable cause of 'seeing a zerg' will only excuse one attack."

"Wonderful…" Saraslha said sarcastically. "So she'll try to bait me, or challenge me to a staged fight."

Nova hit a button to call the lift. "I'm not worried. You're tough, she's tough, and neither of you need handholding."

"I suppose… we're both going to be fighting in the war soon."

"That's right, at the end of the day we're all on the same side, and we're all going to put our lives on the line." The lift reached their level, and its gate opened. They both stepped inside.

After several seconds of the lift carrying them down, Saraslha spoke, "what do you fight for, Nova?"

"The Terran Dominion and its continued security and stability."

"And why do you fight for the Dominion?"

"Because it's my job."

"What motivates you to keep it as your job?"

The ghost sighed at this, "it's not nearly as complicated for me as you assume, Saraslha. I fight, I lead an elite unit of soldiers, and I accomplish what I set out to do. It gives me purpose and it gives me satisfaction. I don't need an underlying philosophy because the doing itself is the point."

"I envy that…" Saraslha trailed as the view of the floors and framework of the starport passed by through the lift's lattice gate as they descended. "No complicated puzzles, no impossible questions, no… guilt."

"You're thinking about what happened in Augustgrad. It wasn't your fault."

"Thank you, Nova, but it really was. If I hadn't been such an arrogant—"

"If a gas line explodes, do you blame the first spark that happened on it, or whatever created the leak?"

"Both, because they both caused it together. Kuraski and I made it possible for each other to do something terrible."

"Wrong. You made it possible for him, and he pulled the trigger to save his own ass. But let's move on to a better topic because it isn't actually about that. The truth is you don't know what you're going to fight for, because it used to be the Swarm and your mother."

"I'd like nothing more than to be like you, Nova, confident and motivated. But I just… can't. If I do something, how can I be certain whether it's correct or not? I can calculate, I can weigh facts and cost/benefit, but it's impossible to know everything, and anything I do is bound to be detrimental to somebody somewhere at some point in time. It's so… paralyzing."

Nova's eyes shut, and she leaned back against the railing. "You'll never be like me, Saraslha, it wouldn't suit you. I don't know what idea or epiphany will get you ticking again, but you had better find it fast." The lift reached the ground floor, and its gates opened. "The hammer is coming down, and you'll be needed for the fight."

Saraslha looked toward Nova, her eyes widened.

"You heard me." Nova had a light smile. "I said that you're needed. We need every edge we can get, and that includes you."

"Thank you… Ghost Lady, that means—"

"This is as far as I go." Nova said, remaining put in the lift. "Head down the east road to the town of Durell, and look for a building called 'Durell Psi Training Grounds.' Report there at least once a day so Command knows you haven't hightailed it. Beyond that you're free to do as you wish, though I recommend spending your time in preparation."

* * *

**1 hour later**

Night had fallen on the populated region of the lush, green planet known as Haven. Saraslha reached the town of Durell on foot. It was a modest collection of buildings surrounded by a large expanse of farmed land. One building in the town proper looked like a general store, and another near the edge of town was an open-air hangar with semi-disassembled cars, trucks and one tractor inside, with a large linup of more vehicles parked in a dirt lot next to it. Despite the streets being empty, Saraslha could see lights on and tool noises coming from this hangar.

She couldn't find the 'Durell Psi Training Grounds' anywhere along the main road, and since everybody else appeared to be asleep, Saraslha headed for the hangar which was visibly and audibly used as a vehicle garage. Somebody was still awake there.

As she approached the wide open vehicle doors which exposed an entire side of the hangar to the outdoors, a new vehicle became visible, which towered over the trucks and tractor. It was a viking in walker mode. When she saw this, a pang of nostalgia shot through Saraslha's mind; all the time she spent freely exploring Char, the battlefields and wrecked Terran hardware littering large swaths of land. She never did get her salvaged viking running… Saraslha wondered if the viking she presently saw in the hangar was in working order.

Saraslha approached, and saw only one person inside. He was dressed in a full-body blue jumpsuit, and stood at a workbench with his back turned to her. As she got closer she saw that he was operating a precision cutting machine, turning a clamped cylinder-shaped piece of metal and running it through a stationary bit to carve out evenly spaced grooves; he was creating a gear.

Saraslha said nothing, and made no sound as she came behind him and watched him work. Once the gear was carved out he shut down the cutter, unclamped the completed gear into his hand and turned around. Then he saw her, and she saw his face.

It was infested. His skin was covered with zerg features, from thickened, colorized hide to horns and boils sticking out of strange and counter-intuitive places. A single, continuous tentacle surfaced and dipped back into his jumpsuit collar in a circuitous path around his body. His posture was off; perpetually tilted to his left as a natural, unstretched state. The second he saw Saraslha, she heard a telepathic voice, _"Whoa! Don't you know it's rude to sneak up on a fella?"_

Saraslha was shocked. She'd been told that there were tame infested on Haven, but this one was a psychic. "I… well…"

He sized her up from foot to head. _"Who are you, and why's your infestation so symmetrical and pretty-looking?"_

She frowned at this, "well you see—"

"_I'm joking! I know who you are, your highness." _He turned and walked to a drill press next to the wall. _"Pretty much everybody on Haven knows who the zerg princess is."_

She scratched the back of her neck. "I was exiled a month ago, I'm no princess."

"_Your mother's the Overqueen, that makes you a princess."_

"Fine then…" she said, exasperated. "You know who I am, now what about you?"

"_Uther, Uther Domz."_

"So… Uther." she trailed as he set the gear on the drill press. "Who owns that viking?"

"_A plantation owner named Hiro Numatsu."_

"Does it run?"

"_It walks, but the transformation system's shot. I'm rebuilding the gearbox right now."_

She looked toward the viking and saw an open T-shaped metal box on the floor, half-filled with an interconnected mass of machined gears of varying sizes. "When I found out the gearbox on mine was wrecked, I just pulled one off another viking without opening it at all."

"_I see, access to the wrecks and salvage dotting Char. The princess gets all the perks." _He fired up the drill press with a foot switch, then drove its bit into the top face of the gear with an overhead lever. Long, coiling slivers of sliced metal unwound from the drilled spot as the bit dug deeper.

Saraslha became indignant, "Is that class envy I'm smelling off you?"

"_Just acknowledgement."_ He finished the hole through the gear_. "I'm actually quite content with the zerg peon lifestyle. My voice sounds like hell, but I'm crazy strong, don't need to sleep, and my skin can emit a fine-tuned vibration that breaks up soil like no tomorrow."_

So he could burrow. It occurred to Saraslha that she couldn't, and she privately twitched at this. Whatever though; flight was way cooler anyway. "You're also psionically gifted. What are the chances of that?"

"_You'll find a lot of psychics on Haven, 'specially living near the Psi Grounds. The Dominion Ghost Academy isn't as draconian under Mengsk Junior, but its reputation is still there. Families with gifted children have a strong incentive to immigrate here. That isn't my story, but it's the story of a lot of folks around here."_

Saraslha heard somebody new approach, and turned to see them. It was a lean girl in her late teens with blue eyes and shoulder-length blonde hair. She dressed like somebody from the city, with clean, bright colors on which dirt would easily show if she worked a field. What mainly got Saraslha's attention was the rifle slung over her shoulder by a strap with the barrel aimed safely upward. It was a military-grade special ops rifle with a custom coloring and the suppressor removed. She spoke, "A pleasant evening, Uther."

"Hey, Casa," The infested Terran spoke arduously through his semi-blocked throat as he turned away from the drill press, leaving the gear there. "Sorry, missed your firearm course. Lot of work here, viking…"

Casa raised a hand in a calming gesture. "Don't worry so much about it. It's good of you to be dedicated to your main line of work."

Saraslha spoke, "You teach at the Psi Training Grounds?" She said to Casa, "but you look like you're about seventeen."

"Eighteen." Casa had a detached smile as she corrected her, "and the story of my childhood is quite the odyssey. I should tell it to you over lunch sometime."

"Casa disassembles, reassembles rifle, quickly. Shoots well." Uther had finally been pulled from his work, standing in a triangle with Saraslha and Casa.

"Your flattery is most kind, Uther. Have you… by chance finished my order?"

Uther walked to the workbench and dragged a 7-foot long cloth bag out from next to it. From this bag he lifted a 6-foot rifle whose dimensions looked like it'd been designed for giant people. "Your cannon is ready." He hefted it to a balance on his shoulder, using both hands to hold it stable. "Your truck?"

"Please do!" Casa nodded.

As they both walked outside, Saraslha was bombarded with a feeling of curiosity and followed. "Do you actually use that gun, Casa?"

"Well I did," she shrugged. "Until the loader cracked. My… let's just say military-immersed childhood led to becoming quite the rifling expert, but I don't know the first thing about precision machining…"

Uther heard this. "Your gun's new parts, my best work. Chambered for mark twelve penetrators. Those shells hazardous; experienced soldier, or else power armor frame joints crack."

Power armor, of course, Saraslha thought. That put the enormous gun in context. She spoke telepathically, _"hey, Uther, why'd your speech suddenly take a dip?"_

Uther snapped back through telepathy, _"Stuff a rolled up newspaper down your throat, speak well through that, and then get back to me."_

"_Just cut the clutter out. I'm sure you can survive a bit of surgery."_

"_It grows back…" _his mental voice grumbled. _"I was one of the lucky infested whose mind could be recovered, but becoming a hundred percent human again is still impossible."_

Casa spoke as they stepped out to the gravel driveway of the hangar, approaching a truck whose tailgate was lowered. "The gun is for my personal use. The greenhorns at the Psi Grounds are still getting the hang of basic weapons."

From the viking to the gun, Saraslha felt bombarded by topics that interested her. "Is there anybody else around here who could handle mark twelve penetrators?"

Casa shrugged, "Instructor Mullen could for sure, he's seen more combat than most. But he doesn't enjoy being around guns and shooting, and instead coaches the trainees on psionic stability; helping them get rid of headaches and control their telepathic senses."

'Mullen,' Saraslha noted that name along with Constance and Casa on her mental list of humans on this planet with exceptional ability. They reached Casa's truck and Uther set the gun down in the bucket, letting the end of the barrel lay on the open tailgate.

"Thank you, Uther." Casa said as she unslung the smaller rifle from her shoulder and set it in the truck bucket as well, "how much to I owe you?"

"Custom-tooled neosteel loader, firing mechanism and chamber amount to four thousand, plus installation, which is sixty." He took out a pin pad and offered it to her.

"Four thousand and sixty credits, that's steep, but I'll pay it." Casa authorized the transaction on the pin pad. "As my mother always tells me: you can never have too many weapons."

"So… Casa," Saraslha said. "You work at the Psi grounds?"

"That's right."

"Are you going to head there now?"

"Yes, I'm staying in the apartment right next to it."

"In that case…" Saraslha's hands clapped gently together. "Could I go with you?"

"That depends…" a light smirk as Casa turned to the infested human. "Uther, I take it you're going to be busy all night?"

"Full night shift, psi conditioning in morning." As he said this, he headed back to the hangar.

Casa turned to Saraslha as she pointed to the giant gun in the back of her truck. "Can you carry this beast to the armory in the main compound? Save me the inconvenience of getting at least two other people to help move it?"

"Sure," Saraslha said.

"Then you've got yourself a ride." She said pleasantly as she walked to the driver's door. "Climb on in."

Saraslha hopped into the back of the truck, then sat down on the side wall.

"Erm, princess…" Casa was frowning. "You're free to ride in the cab with me if you'd like."

"Nah, that's alright. I prefer the outdoors—"

Saraslha stopped speaking when she saw Casa's face become blank, focused, intense, as she spoke with a deliberate slowness, "I would be most pleased if you would ride in the cab..."

Saraslha blinked, processing Casa's nonverbal language and becoming slightly nervous at what she found. "Um… yeah, sure, I'll… ride in the cab." Saraslha turned and hopped off onto the ground.

"Splendid," Casa switched to a pleasant smile. They both entered the truck's cab. Casa started the engine and drove away from the hangar onto the main road.

"Now, I already know quite a lot about you, your being a celebrity and all that," Casa said as they drove slowly through the dirt road of town. "But there remain quite a few questions I'd like to hit you with, if it wouldn't be too much bother."

Saraslha was slouching in the shotgun seat, looking out the side window. "Like you say, you know plenty about me, so…" Her face turned toward Casa in the driver's seat, "why don't we talk about you?"

"I'm an artist by trade, but it's not exactly the most stable source of income, so I do firearms instruction to pay the bills."

"Eighteen years is barely adulthood for a Terran. When did you learn enough about firearms to instruct people?"

"I've been using and working on guns for eight of those eighteen years. A military environment doesn't discriminate if you're a child."

"Have you ever killed somebody?"

"I've killed an awful lot of somebodies," she said softly.

"Are you psychic?"

"No."

Saraslha continued, "what other curriculum do the training grounds offer?"

Casa shrugged, "I handle marksmanship and equipment maintenance, while Mullen does advanced field tactics and psi stability. Daniel and Rhianne are the advanced psi instructors who weed out high-profile powers in trainees. The Republic _wants _the gifted to become reservists for their own special forces unit, but enlistment is voluntary, and the stated mission of the program is to provide young psychics with training and guidance so they can live their lives without their powers being a danger to themselves or others."

"I'll be honest," Saraslha said. "That sounds like some pansy half-assed stuff right there. It's a nice thing they're doing for young psychics, but why train them if you're not going to make use of them?"

"Haven is a representative republic. Personal liberty is a big deal in this neck of the woods." Casa turned the truck to a road out of town which led uphill.

"Meh," she shrugged. "Whatever works for you people." Saraslha decided to change the subject. "What was your favorite kill?"

Casa smirked at this. "A feral hydralisk. It had wandered into an open field at the crack of dawn, just as I was waking up inside my concealed hideaway. It wandered one direction, then another, following different scent trails with no idea I was watching. I leveled my gun, took aim and—kabloo! Sent its guts spewing over the ground." As she said this, her smirk intensified. "Killed it the exact same way I kill wild game."

"That's some savage stuff, poor hydralisk…" Saraslha beamed at Casa. "I like you."

"Aww, that's sweet." Casa said dismissively. "But I've had a thought: You'll be needing a place to stay, won't you?"

"I only sleep if I have to kill time or conserve energy. So really… all I need is a work space. Someplace nobody will tamper with my stuff while I'm away."

"Well that seals it." Casa remained focused on the headlight-illuminated nighttime dirt road. "You require lodging, so you may as well move into mine until you find your own."

"We just met, and you want me to stay at your place?"

"Yes."

"Suit yourself. If it becomes a pain, just say the word and I'll hit the woods. The elements really aren't a concern for me."

"That's hardly a proper way to treat a guest."

"So…" Saraslha trailed, "what can you tell me about a gal named Constance?"

"We're good friends," Casa said easily. "She's learned a lot of exotic psi powers from the Protoss, though she doesn't have their energy capacity and can't do it on their scale. An impressive fighter with a lot of built up anger and strong affection for Protoss culture, if I'm to put her in a nutshell. Why do you ask?"

"She attacked me at the Starport, and I want to be ready for round two."

"That's hardly surprising… She hates the zerg with a passion. I mean—most people are afraid of them. But for Constance it's 'I'll kill every last one of the fucking things.'" Casa quoted her in a mock tone.

"I worked that much out. Who did my race kill that she cared about?"

"It's not… quite that straightforward. Her mother was infested, and not one of the infested which Hanson's recovery project was able to salvage. She remained feral until her death in the End War."

Saraslha looked downward as she processed this story. "And it's safe to guess that for Constance, this experience included a lot of traumatizing visits to her feral mother's cage?"

"Who was going to tell her no? 'Your mother's alive in a building twenty minutes' drive from here, but you're not allowed to see her.' You can imagine a young girl stubbornly knocking through that line."

Saraslha exhaled, still looking down. "I have a screwed up relationship with my own mother, but it's nothing compared to Constance's story…" She stared ahead, "if she attacks me though, I'm still going to kick her ass."

"She'd be disappointed if you didn't try."

The truck came to a walled fortress on a hilltop where several roads converged. The steel fort had a single large structure built into the walls with an array of communication aerials on its roof. There were several smaller structures within the walls. Next to the fort was a 3-story log housing structure with a shingled roof and cobblestone chimney. Saraslha saw this, and spoke. "This is the Psionic Training Ground? Are you guys expecting an attack?"

"The fort was built during the End War, to serve as an early warning station and a depot where viking squadrons could resupply safely. Eleven others were built in a webbed formation around the capital. The forts were abandoned after the war due to defense budget cuts, but this one has been renovated by the Psychic Training Program." Casa pulled the truck into a dirt parking lot next to the wood structure. "I keep most of my guns in the armory strongroom."

The civilian-owned viking back in town came to Saraslha's mind. "Haven… seems to be really big on vikings."

"Oh, definitely. The Viking Corps comprises the bulk of the republic's professional military, and a lot of well-off citizens own one privately." The truck was parked, and Casa shut off the engine while leaving it in gear as a parking brake.

They both exited the truck and walked beside its rear bucket, "I'm kinda tempted to just… find one and take it for a spin," Saraslha said.

"With the owner's permission, I assume?" Casa reached over the sidewall and lifted her smaller rifle to casually sling over her shoulder.

Saraslha easily hopped into the bucket, then crouched down to hoist the 6-foot long rifle. It was heavy, but she was able to get it on top of her shoulder at its center of mass, using one arm to keep it balanced as she walked to the tailgate and hopped off. "I was kinda thinking… coerced permission?"

"Mmm," Casa said skeptically. "Have I informed you of the firearm ownership rate on this planet? Ninety five percent, and a lot of people have collections." Casa said this in a low, snide tone. "There are more guns on this planet than people."

"New plan then…" Saraslha said as they walked together along the road toward the steel fortress. "…Is what I will come up with because I badly want to fly a viking."

"You lived on Char most of your life. Did it not occur to you to salvage one?"

"It very much did, and it's in working order except the switch in the seat. I never actually got to fly it," she said somberly. "I was so excited too, read up on the manual, learned the controls and everything."

"I suppose you shouldn't have caused the Neo Hybrid Crisis, then."

"Yeah…" They got closer to the fort, with a metal lattice gate large enough for a truck or SCV. "I really shouldn't have been such a stupid little—"

"Erm," Casa suddenly spoke, alarmed at Saraslha's demeanor, "you really shouldn't beat yourself up too badly. My mother told me there was a lot more to it than just your involvement."

"It happened because I was an entitled brat."

"Saraslha." Casa's expression had taken its blank, intent form. "I want to make something clear."

"Mm? What is it?"

They reached the gate, and Casa placed her hand on a biometric panel which reacted with a pleasant ringing sound as the gate unlatched and opened. "If you're to be a guest in my home, then I ask that you have self-respect." They walked through the opened gate, Saraslha remained silent. "It's good of us to admit our faults and take responsibility on the chin, but there's a point where that's been seen to, and I've little patience for self-attack for its own sake."

"I… see your point." Saraslha trailed behind Casa, the giant rifle still carried on her shoulder. The gun weighed more than she did, and each step had to be stiffly planted as each sequential foot moved hastily over the ground to take the next step. "That's perfectly fair."

"It's for your own benefit. You want to be good company to others, do you not?"

"It never hurts to get people to like you."

"Then there's no harm in conducting yourself with dignity. Especially given that you're the daughter of a queen."

"That's exactly how I prefer to act…" A smile found its way to Saraslha's face as they came to a silo-shaped steel building within the walls. "It's weird, but you're making be feel comfortable in moving back toward that."

"I'm not trying to knock you down, or be cruel—"

"No, really. I think you're healthy for me to be around, Casa."

"Ahem…" She seemed flustered with her back turned as she accessed a panel on the silo-shaped building, causing its reinforced blast doors to unseal and open. "Your words are most kind, Saraslha."

They went through the ground floor door into the structure. It was a round room with a ramp in the center which led to the second story. The entire wall was lined with gun racks and locked cabinets filled with rifles and ammunition boxes.

Casa walked to a tall, slim locker which was left open. "Please insert the heavy rifle in here."

Saraslha set the stock down in the locker floor, then leaned it inside where a magnet latched near the end of the barrel, holding it upright. With this, Casa shut the locker and engaged the electronic bolt locks.

* * *

November Terra was staring through a wall-sized window overlooking the high-elevation capital of the Haven Republic. The entire city was built on the cliff faces of a mountain, with foundation which adapted to steep rock slopes to create artificial level ground, as well as increase street cohesion and create a spiraling slope which led from the foot of the mountain to more daring heights. Several bridges connected the city to perches on smaller mountains where twinkling nighttime city lights were also visible. The city's starport was an arm which reached horizontally outward, with its support structure forming a conspicuous web of metal framing whose lighting stood out in the night.

Nova could imagine using a location such as this for a fortress. But a capital city..? She wasn't one to argue, apparently this defensible location was indispensable to surviving the attacks they came under from the Moebius Fanatics and Golden Armada during the End War. The post-war growth the city had experienced over the years pressured its architects to find creative ways to produce more space and support taller structures. With the right amenities and promotion, the city could become a tourist destination…

"Agent November Terra, the Council has reached a decision."

Nova turned around. She was in the Republic council chamber, which had been in the midst of a closed session in which classified matters were discussed. She had been waiting on them as they deliberated over a request she made. "What is it, then?"

In the center of the spacious hall, there was a raised platform with a formaton of wooden tables and seats. Seated at their head was a tall woman, Nordic in appearance who wore an officer's uniform which was distinct from those of the Dominion by a white and silver color scheme rather than black and gold. She spoke, "given the inability of Republic psychics Daniel or Rhianne to properly probe the captured spy, it's been decided that you'll be allowed to attempt such."

Finally. Was it so hard to just say '_go ahead and give it a try'_? "Thank you, Chief Councilwoman," was what Nova actually said. She headed past the long table toward one of the doors.

"Terra," the Chief Councilwoman said.

Nova stopped, and looked her way. "What is it, Strommen?"

"This spy, he's from Earth. That much we've found…"

"That's one of the reasons I'm here," Nova said flatly

"Should we be worried? Is there… something big on the horizon?"

Nova wasn't supposed to answer a question like this. Was the Dominion keeping their lips tight on what they knew? Dammit, Nova became frustrated. She wasn't a diplomat, it wasn't her job to speak to the leaders of other states. A silent, invisible groan before she spoke. "Yes, we think an invasion fleet is on its way."

A rumbling din among the council members, Strommen became intent; stressed in a manner which made her appear focused. "When?" She asked simply.

"There's uncertainty on when; it could be tomorrow, it could be months from now. Their military power is presumed to be colossal, and classified plans are being lain down in military command and the Emperor's administration to mobilize for war."

The din of the council grew louder. Strommen slammed a fist on the table, still looking down the elevation at Nova. "Why the _hell_ hasn't the Dominion told us about this?" Her voice had adopted a fiery anger which betrayed her relative youth.

Nova's disposition remained cool; indifferent, "you'll have to take that up with them. Now if you'll excuse me…" she proceeded to walk out of the council chamber. "I have a prisoner to interrogate. You people are going to be busy as well, I imagine."

* * *

Casa's apartment was tidier than Saraslha expected. The only mess she saw was the workbench, were a mounted canvas and smattering of brushes, pencils and paints were lain about. Saraslha walked into the kitchen space, standing over a table with 4 chairs. "Can I work on this surface?"

"I'm afraid not," Casa said, hanging up her rifle on a hook near the art bench. "That table is for taking meals."

Terrans had tables meant specifically for eating. Saraslha privately rolled her eyes at this as she turned around, looked across the room and saw a wide, squat table in front of a couch in a carpeted section. "How about that table?"

"That would be fine, though you'd have to sit on the floor."

Saraslha walked to the table, sat down on her knees with the couch behind her, and then pumped her stomach. After a few seconds and a few convulsions, she projectile-vomited, releasing a long, previously coiled bladder filled with solid objects which splashed wetly on the hard metal surface of the table.

"Good god!" Casa shouted.

Saraslha exhaled with relief. "That's a lot better. I've finally unloaded my baggy," she had a content smile.

"Saraslha, that's disgusting." Casa said indignantly.

"For you it's disgusting, for me it's just…" she looked up, then just shrugged. "Tuesday."

Casa anxiously aimed a finger at the uncoiled bag from Saraslha's stomach, then at Saraslha, "that sort of thing, for you… Tuesday?"

"Tuesday," Saraslha affirmed. "I'm sorry if you get queasy at the sight of—"

Casa waved it down, "It is not my stomach, it's the fact that you… you'd just suddenly…"

Saraslha was wide eyed, oblivious to the cause of Casa's distress, she just shrugged.

When Casa noticed this, she immediately calmed, adopting a dignified posture. She walked to a kitchen cupboard, took out a spray bottle and a roll of paper towels, brought them to Saraslha in the living room and set these items next to the low table. "Clean it."

"As you wish." Saraslha said casually as she picked up these items.

"Splendid, and it'd best not leave a permanent stain." Casa said gently as she went to the kitchen. "I suppose I'll be making dinner for two tonight. Do you like roast ursadon?"

"Ursadon is delicious." Saraslha was smiling as she began dry-wiping the wet area around the bag. "I used to love it when my mom and I visited planets with them."

"That works out nicely, because I need to finish this cut," Casa said as she pulled it out of the fridge. "Tomorrow you're probably going to attend the Psi Grounds, correct?"

"I'll see if it has anything to offer me, otherwise I'm just going to do the obligatory showing up once a day and otherwise work on Branson and catch up on my reading."

"Who is Branson, might I ask?"

Saraslha loosened the neck of the bag she'd regurgitated and pulled out a jellybean-shaped hunk of biomass twice the width of her palm. It had same brown-orange coloration as Saraslha's own carapace, and was covered with evenly spaced prickly hairs. "This is Branson. I made him in New Folsom."

Casa had set the oven to preheat, and was staring at the lump with curiosity. "You made that in prison..?"

"I repeatedly had time alone in my cell while everybody else was asleep. It's good he remained dormant—hey, Branson!" Saraslha poked it before resuming the task of cleaning her mess. "You're outta my stomach now. Wake up."

"…_Food."_

Saraslha rolled her eyes at this telepathic broadcast. "He's hungry. Casa, can he have a strip of that meat?"

The flash of a long, thin knife blade became visible in Casa's hand,

"_Weapon…" _another telepathic message from Branson.

Casa proceeded to cut a long strip off the ursadon cut. "I'm intrigued, he can have some meat." She brought it over and set it town on the table near the whisker-ridden lump.

An eye opened on its center, and then two more of equal size opened on the far extremities of Branson's limbless, ovular shape. The three eyes homed in on the coiled strip of ursadon meat, then a mouth opened beneath the center eye. His tongue shot out, latched onto the food and pulled an end into his mouth with an indelicate immediacy.

The ravenous sequence of tiny but relentless bites continued until the strip of meat was gone. After the last swallow, Branson's 3 eyes proceeded to look up at the 2 humanoids, with 1 eye on Saraslha and 2 on Casa.

"D'aww, he's cute." Casa said. "He looks like a baby overseer."

"He's a heavily stripped down overseer who can't fly, facilitate control over a brood or even help generate a wormhole." Saraslha said. "He's meant to attach to my back in a camoflaged state, independently detecting threats and warning me about them, though he has to get a bit smarter before that can work."

"Lacking in the brains department, then?"

"The first few iterations of his strain were a dumpster fire, constantly bombarding me with observations of obvious and irrelevant things. I accidentally made this one sentient, so I'm stuck with him now."

"Well he seems the quiet type."

Saraslha shrugged, "he's being shy. Self-awareness can create inhibition in a zerg."

Casa stood straight, then went back to the kitchen. "I didn't realize you designed your own strains."

"Mmm," Saraslha smirked as she finished with the thick part of the vomit mess and proceeded to spray and use a fistful of fresh towels. "You're looking at the proud creator of the Pyrolisk and Cryolisk strains."

"The egotistical creator it would seem." Casa said as she opened the oven and placed the ursadon cut inside.

"That's true, I do have a large ego."

Casa had a content expression at this, "The Pyrolisk and Cryolisk strains are used by Zagara's Swarm, then?"

"A lot of testing was being done last time I was on Char. Broodmothers are given a lot of autonomy as to their army compositions."

"Perhaps you should report the existence of these strains to Dominion Command..?"

"I'll spill everything I know the minute they decide to debrief me. But I don't think that'll happen until they're done playing chicken with my prison sentence."

"That's perfectly fair…" Casa trailed as she got out a metal soup pan and began cutting an inordinately fat carrot into it. "What sort of psi abilities can you perform?"

"Telepathy, hive mind synergy for controlling zerg, and… Essence scanning and editing I suppose falls under psionics, though I need physical contact to do it."

"Is that all?" Casa was surprised as she moved a bundle of celery to the chopping block.

"Well yeah," Saraslha finished cleaning her mess. She took a swab of Branson's biomass with the tip of her claw, he winced at this. Saraslha pulled a gelatinous green ball from her regurgitated bag. "I'm not that strong a psychic, Casa. My control capacity is about half of Rindell's, and she was a mid-level broodmother."

"The Sephulli reports state that you can fire an energy bolt."

"It wouldn't seriously hurt a domestic cat, it's so weak. I'm much more comfortable with Terran weapons."

"But the ability is there, isn't it? That implies a fair amount of psionic potential."

"Believe me when I say that I've done everything in my power to try to become a stronger psychic with only token success. Being subpar among the zerg with a 'princess' bullseye on my back was… a challenge." Saraslha dropped the biomass sample from Branson into the gelatinous green ball. It seeped inside before dissipating into black specks.

"I read all about your activities on Sephulli, defeating an army three times the size of your own, and then matching wits with the Cerebrate. When I anticipated meeting you I must confess to thinking you'd be… different."

"I indeed was different then. Arrogant, immature…"

"Capable?" Casa said.

"Without a doubt, but those other two things were bound to bite me in the ass, and on Korhal they did."

"So what would the arrogant, capable Saraslha do, in the situation you're in now?"

"Build an army, soak up information, and maybe develop a weird hobby, like investing in a warehouse full of Dyson grills and looking for people to sell them to after the fact. Especially crazy places to sell them, I mean, can you imagine if I was at Deadman's Port knocking on doors, trying to sell Dyson grills to people?"

"Nobody at that place would ever want a Dyson grill, Saraslha."

"I know, it'd be hilarious. Everybody would think I was a gangster hitman with the flimsiest cover imaginable."

"Weird hobbies aside, you really ought to prepare for the coming conflict. You are capable of controlling a zerg army and the Dominion will use that."

"No doubt, but being the only autonomous mind in your unit is a huge weakness, so while I'm here I'm keeping an eye out for allies; capable people who'll have my back."

"Who have you added to that list?"

"That Constance girl is a fighter, and I sensed a hefty amount of psionic power, but she hates me so enlisting her will be a crapshoot. The infested Terran Uther could be useful, he's a telepath, and if his infestation is extensive enough he could form an empathic link with zerg strains and control them himself."

"Zerg obedience is formed around empathy?" Casa was adding seasoning to the soup.

"A visceral sense of 'you're like me, so I can feel what you feel,' the subordinate strain feels its master's pleasure, displeasure, rage and drive to accomplish goals. Without this network of base of the brain positive and negative stimulus, zerg would become disaffected with following orders and try to kill their controller, whose presence in their mind would feel invasive."

"Fascinating, so that's why human psychics and protoss cannot control feral zerg. Although… I believe this empathic link has been substituted in the past through chemical stimulus."

"Definitely. Hop a zerg up on narcotics and it will associate a human's commands with the pleasant feeling and be content for a while, but its body will quickly build up a resistance to the foreign substance, the happy feeling will wear out and before long it will become feral again." As Saraslha spoke, she merged her gelatinous ball with another which contained a spiky worm-like creature which swam inside. It absorbed the nutrients and essence of the new ball, growing larger and more sophisticated as a result. Saraslha continued speaking, "the Zerg… can be ruled, by the strongest members of their own kind. But they can't be tamed. The Directorate tried to accomplish that in the Brood War, and it failed."

"Do you think they'll try to accomplish that again?"

Saraslha stopped her work for a moment, staring at the tiny worm swimming around in the gelatinous ball. "Would they try to take over the Swarm again..? The overmind they defeated in the Brood War was infantile; vulnerable. I can't imagine my mother being conquered by a bunch of humans."

"It could always happen." Casa finished adding to the soup and turned on the burner. "Zagara isn't as powerful as the Queen of Blades. She could be captured, or assassinated and replaced."

Saraslha's head shook. "That's the popular perception I hear a lot, but people just don't know; they haven't been around her like I have. My mother is extremely powerful."

"But let's say it could happen. Let's say the Directorate whips out a weapon that defeats her. How would you feel about that, knowing she exiled you and left you for dead?"

At this question, Saraslha's mind drew a blank. She simply continued staring at the green ball, the worm swimming inside.

* * *

**Day 2**

Constance's eyes shot awake to take in the early morning daylight, feeling alert and dehydrated as she lay atop a tangled bedding. She had fallen asleep fully dressed, and with one boot still on her foot.

"_It's about time your mind popped up again." _A telepathic voice. _"Nova tells me you started some shit last night. Care to explain?"_

"_Of course, Uncle." _Constance said over a mild distance to the person not immediately present. She sat up, found her other boot on the floor and pulled it back on. _"I'd gone to the starport to meet the new psi trainee, it was there I saw a zerg, so naturally I—"_

"_Right, and I saw a woman dressed like a witch, so naturally I threw water in her face. Do you think I'm stupid?"_

Yes, but that's not relevant to our conversation. Constance smiled to herself at the idea of saying this, but it didn't quite fit. _"No, Uncle."_ You're at least average intelligence. She was giddy at the jabs she generously held back as she went to a desk with a mirror, doing slight touches to her short, messy brunette hair and then tucking in her flanel shirt.

"_You test me, Constance.__ Nova chewed me out over what you did. I will chew you out in turn for your idiocy."_

"_Chew away." _Constance was in a content mood as she picked up a pair of golden nerve cord caps and fastened them to stubby hair braids beside her face. The next accessory was a pair of yellow Khalai metal arm bands which her hands went through, stopping firmly around the hard, well-worked biceps of her bare arms.

"_What the hell kind of fool mindset do you dive into, attacking people you just met—" _Her uncle proceeded to vent. Constance didn't make much of an effort to absorb it; stuff about gauging your opponent first, not making enemies out of random strangers, using the techniques he taught her for self-defense and… rubber ducks? Constance felt certain she heard that word in the jumble of his telepathic rant. She found her favorite trench coat with a dark grey hue and the sleeves torn off hanging next to the door, which she proceeded to throw on.

Her Uncle's rant finished, and Constance replied, _"have you ever stopped to consider why you grovel at that woman's boots like a dog?"_

"…_You sass me."_

"_I'm being straight with you, Uncle, about the facts I observe in an objective fashion." _Constance opened the door and headed out of her bedroom, and straight to the kitchen where she filled a glass of water. _"Nova says jump, you say how high. Do I have that wrong? Perhaps you should roll over so she can stomp the other side of your face."_

"_Nova is a warrior deserving of basic deference of respect. No other terran matches her _effectiveness_ in battle. It is not weakness to listen what she has to say."_

Constance slowly gulped down her water, dwelling on an old question_. "What's wrong with being your own badass boss?"_

"_Did you forget? I was never my own boss even after my emancipation. It is always my nature to follow a leader strong in will and certain in direction. This is my life's purpose."_

Now hydrated, Constance left her class in the sink strainer. _"What if your leader told you to kill yourself, or slaughter noncombatants?"_

"_That depends."_

"_You're fucking kidding me. That's idiotic."_

"_What really matters is being careful who you swear your vows to. Now, I have that choice."_

"_I think you're just being insecure about leaving a pathetic comfort zone."_

"_It gives me direction and satisfaction, and that's enough for me. It is _my_ purpose. You should take time to think about yours."_

Pacing around the house to focus on the telepathic conversation, Constance found herself at a window staring underneath the rising Haven star. _"I know my purpose." _She reached out towards the star, as if trying to trap its luminance in her hands. _"Anyone who tries to extinguish us will be burned, incinerated, destroyed by me."_

She dropped her hand and turned her gaze away from the star's growing intensity. _"I think you're the one who's forgotten his purpose. You were stronger; never hesitating to destroy your enemies in the past."_

"_Eventually, destruction grows tiring."_

"_I don't give a shit if you lost the spine and stomach for it like an old man, but I'm sure as hell the next generation of pirates, criminals, and warlords won't have this insipid _weariness_." _Constance had started getting dressed, but continued to wander the house mid-conversation._ "Now I have to pick up your slack. Don't bitch about it because I've been preparing my whole life for war."_

"_Can you war forever, even in peace?"_

"_To deal destruction upon our enemies is the destiny of our family."_

"_That was _my_ family's destiny. Now there are only two of us. You are the last of our legacy"_

Constance silently wrapped herself in her black trench coat. _"There is only one of mine."_

There was a pause before her uncle continued,_"__I hope you have a lot of time set aside between the harvest and your training, because you're going to polish and rust check every last implement in my smithy."_

Constance's mood was already sour after all that was said, and it sank even further as she recollected the racks and shelves of primitive swords, dagger-axes, armor pieces and muzzle-loader rifles that filled her uncle's smithy. Nonetheless, her bravado persisted, _"fine, but you haven't exactly found the most thorough person for that job—"_

"_And if you half-ass it like last time, you can forget about this year's summer visit to Aiur."_

Humans like Constance weren't allowed on the Protoss home world without round-the-clock accompaniment by a protoss individual. Nevertheless the summer visits she'd taken there were the highlight of her year. _"…Yes, Uncle."_

"_The same applies if you permanently damage the bug girl."_

"_Oh that is a dick move—"_

"_She's a high-value military asset and Nova would fucking murder me if I let her die, so whatever spat you've started with her, you're going to play it out in a nonlethal fashion, is that understood?"_

Nova again. How _did _that woman, a mere human have so much influence over Constance's non-blood related uncle? Constance felt her jaw, still broken from last night, and kicked open the front door. _"Fine, but my business with her is far from concluded."_

After a contemplative span of silence, Constance's uncle spoke, _"…At the starport... Was it a good fight?"_

"_Oh yes."_

* * *

Ozzie Mullen, the advanced tactics and psi stability instructor at the Durell Training Grounds was a late-middle aged man whose hair showed signs of greying. Nonetheless his physique was a chiseled, wiry mass of muscle, hardened and shaped by a lifetime of regular physical strain. Saraslha had only seen a handful of Terrans who looked like this, and had been told that it was people who spent more than a decade using power armor on a daily basis; soldiers who lasted that long without being killed or discharged.

"You must be Asset Fifteen." He'd extended a hand to greet her when she entered his instruction room early in the morning.

Saraslha took it, and they shook. "And you're Mullen, the guy who teaches young people not to have headaches."

"That's a part of my duties, sure." Their hands let go. "It isn't why you're here, though."

Saraslha's arms crossed. "I'm wondering what else this place has to offer."

"For fancy psi channeling you want Daniel or Rhianne. On my end, I've got two decades of battlefield experience and an intimate knowledge of every field tactic in the book."

Saraslha fancied herself a chessmaster. Would a seasoned veteran know something she didn't? "Show me."

He took a remote and turned on a projector, which displayed a detailed map of a volcanic landscape with crudely drawn red and violet symbols and arrows. "You're familiar with the Second Battle of Char?"

Saraslha nodded upward, "the Disaster of Char, as my race prefers to call it."

"Main Dominion landing point was here," he spoke in a succinct tone as he spot lit a location on the map, "At O' five hundred hours the West Dominion battle line formed here," he swept the light across a formation of red symbols with detailed numbers and composition ratios, "and O' five ten, a zerg push eight thousand strong came down those hills straight into the west line's center." A violet arrow with its own numbers and troop composition information. "Why wasn't the Terran line decimated?"

"Probably the psi disruptors they used in the battle. They're a big pain in the ass for hive mind zerg."

Mullen's head shook. "This encounter happened at O' five ten standard time, the first psi disruptor in this area had yet to be assembled."

Saraslha was frowning, skeptical. "All mathematics and precedent say that this matchup of force strength ends with a zerg breakthrough. Unless psi disruptors are in play, in which case the Terran line holds."

"It looks like there's something I can teach you." Mullen's serious, line-ridden face had cracked to appearing pleased.

Saraslha became anxious, "tell me."

He lit up the terrain 25 meters ahead of the Terran line. "This area of land is a thirty degree downward slope. The zerg charge became exposed more intimately to projectile fire as they came down the hill as it presented a larger collective target, there was a cleaner line of fire, and the front line of zerg could not effectively shield the allies behind them."

"That's really scary…" Saraslha was beady-eyed. "Terran firepower does more damage to you if you're coming down a hill. I'm seriously taking mental note of this."

Mullen nodded. "That's why if you're a footman, and your squad is expecting an attack, positioning yourself in a spot where the enemy is coming downhill within your effective firing radius will greatly increase the damage inflicted on your enemy."

Students began pouring into the room, and Saraslha turned to leave while aiming a finger at Mullen. "You're helpful. I gotta split." She walked out of the door. Mullen watched her leave, saying nothing more.

The Psi Grounds were a lot bigger on the inside, with a sizable underground floor which was open to the outside on a flank where the ground ran downhill. Saraslha wasn't stopped by any of the humans, and didn't get many funny looks due to her appearance. Nova was right; these people had grown accustomed to seeing zerg-like humanoids with their population of tame infested.

Saraslha found the library, where she headed to the nonfiction section. She'd lost her tablet a month ago, and there was a book on it which she had the itch to finish reading. Hopefully this library carried it. As her eyes scanned the book spines on the shelves, she made a mental note to try to acquire a new tablet.

Her eyes stopped at a small, drably colored book whose cover had only lettering, she pulled it off the shelf.

_The Art of War, by Sun Tzu_

Saraslha smiled with nostalgia. She remembered reading this book several times at 2 years old. It was written before most Terrans even knew their homeworld was round, but it remained among the greater pieces of literature produced by their species.

"'Sup, Zerg pigdog."

Saraslha turned to the source of the voice, it was Constance, the tall, dark-skinned farm girl decked in Khalai regalia was standing next to the shelf on the opposite side, her arms crossed. Saraslha only winced.

"What book are you looking for?" Constance said in a surprisingly amicable tone.

"Koprulu Military Doctrines, by Falkenhausen."

Wordlessly, she snapped a finger and pointed to a specific spot on the shelves.

Saraslha found it there. As she took it, she turned back toward Constance, "is there something you want, human?"

"Yeah, a rematch in the sparring ring."

"No." Saraslha said.

She frowned with annoyance, "what kind of zerg turns down a fight?"

"One with a brain."

"No balls though, right?" Constance's eyes were viper-like slits.

Saralsha felt a boiling passion rise from her gut. She wanted to lock horns with this verbal jab and put the human in her place, but then… the memory of her failure, exile, Rindell. Her boiling passion deflated. "Believe whatever you want, I'm not interested in fighting you," Saraslha turned and left.

* * *

**Aiur**

"_The matter at hand is the Terran fleet approaching this sector." _Artanis, the Hierarch of the Daelaam Protectorate, was standing ahead of his seat at the Twilight Council, addressing the leaders of the unified Protoss nation; Matriarch Vorazun of the Nerazim, Executor Talondar of the Purifiers, Executor Nikaas of the Tal'Darim splinter population, and representatives of every province on Aiur and its colony worlds.

Artanis continued speaking, _"The Dominion Emperor claims that this fleet originates from the United Earth Directorate, a distant empire centered on the Terran home world. He also claims that the fleet is larger than any the Terran race has amassed at any point in its history. The warp rift fluctuations observed by our distant outposts corroborate all of these claims. This session of the Twilight Council is held to determine our protectorate's course of action in regard to this development."_

"I believe a show of force is necessary." Talondar said in his usual booming tone, "Let them see the power of our fleets, and receive a clear warning that warmongering in this sector will not be tolerated. The Golden Armada can decimate any Terran fleet, however large."

Vorazun shook her head at Talondar's lack of tact. "_It is my opinion that this Terran fleet should be observed covertly. We should ascertain their intentions before making any kind of move, military or diplomatic."_

"_I hear your proposals, Matriarch, Executor." _Artanis said. _"My own concern is that the Earth fleet will make war on the Terran Dominion, and this will upset the delicate balance of power which has kept the sector at peace since the End War. The Zerg Overqueen may gain the confidence to attack while our ally is fighting on a different front."_

A robed Khalai who represented the city of Aldera and the surrounding area stood. _"Hierarch, the Council agreed five solar returns ago that allying with the Terran Dominion would be the wisest course of action in response to zerg aggression, however, a war between two Terran nations is a different matter entirely."_

"_That is correct, Judicator Kalum," _Artanis conceded. _"Such is my reason for stressing the value of the Dominion as an ally. The Terrans' ability to damage the Zerg Swarm is proven by simple observation of history, and having them on our side against Zagara would greatly improve our chance of victory."_

"_It is too soon to draw conclusions about the presence of the Earth fleet." _Matriarch Vorazun said, _"This topic should be postponed until more is known."_

A new voice came up, that of the Tal'Darim Executor; a female ascendant and one of the few of the powerful, high-ranking psionic warriors among the Tal'Darim defectors. _"Whatever the Earth fleet may do, the best option for the Firstborn is neutrality. Unless this nation is directly attacked, the coming war is none of our concern." _

There was a span of silence at what the young leader, appointed by the Tal'Darim outcasts to represent them, said aloud. Artanis spoke, _"an interesting contention, Nikaas. Explain your reasoning."_

Nikaas observed the other members of the council, absorbing their probing stares. _"The Terrans are warriors. They earned that distinction in the End War, when they stood against the corrupted Golden Armada, and resolved to resist the Forces of Amon to their deaths. With that much conceded, they are still primitive, with codes of ethics designed to check widespread character flaws among their own kind, and a psionic potential which has only awakened in a slim minority of individuals. They have always warred amongst themselves, and in the coming centuries they will continue to war among themselves. These conflicts are a natural cycle in their development as a species."_

Vorazun spoke, _"I concur with Executor Nikass' evaluation. A conflict among their own kind cannot be equated to a war of extinction against the Zerg Swarm or the Dark Xel'Naga. It would be patronizing of the Firstborn to intervene in their species' internal wars, and selfish to steer it toward an outcome we preferred." _The Matriarch's sight panned over the rest of the council, _"We should respect the Terrans' capacity to resolve the painful stages of their growth as a young species, by allowing them to do so on their own."_

Talondar's hand slammed on the golden yellow alloy chest-high barrier in front of him. "Our nation is a presence in this sector whether or not that reality is welcome, Matriarch. Everybody will watch what we do, and if that should be nothing, our kind will appear weak, to the Tal'Darim Highlord, to our allies, and to the Zerg Overqueen." He voiced this last title with a deliberate slowness. "The Swarm is the greatest threat to our people and our future, on that the council unanimously agrees. Chaos in the sector, of the sort which this Earth fleet will produce, will only benefit and embolden the Swarm's violent aspirations."

Vorazun winced at this, _"you would suggest using our military might to police the sector. This would only foster dependence and resentment from those we presume to defend. Our own nation must come first, just as for the Dominion Emperor, his own nation must come first. Like many of our people I have come to respect the Terrans as a warrior race, let that be reflected in our treatment of them, as we allow them to deal with their own affairs."_

"And what of our treatment of ourselves, Matriarch?" Talondar countered. "Should be reduce ourselves to a reactionary state, motivated only by fear and caution? It is action, not reaction that will avert catastrophe in our future."

Artanis had been in quiet meditation as the council debated. When Talondar finished speaking, his eyes opened and he spoke, _"I put forward this motion: The Daelaam Protectorate will remain neutral, and announce no intent to involve itself in a purely Terran conflict. However, the Earth fleet will be spied on, their diplomatic channels will be observed, and upon ascertaining their intentions, their military strength, and the Zerg Overqueen's reaction to the conflict or lack thereof, a new session of the Twilight Council will be held on this matter."_

Every council member signaled their acceptance of the Hierarch's motion.

* * *

**1 Day later**

It was early morning as Casa, with Saraslha in tow headed for an expanse of farmland covered in squat green foliage. Casa had changed out of her city clothes and into something more rugged and expendable in the face of dirt. "I'm quite happy you agreed to help in the harvest. The carrot fields south of town tend to be undermanned every season."

"I enjoy doing something if there's purpose in it." Saraslha said, walking in a relaxed posture. "So we're pulling carrots out of the ground?"

They reached the soft soil of the farmed land, with rows of carrots whose fat orange roots were out of view underground. "Try not to break the stems when you pull, and sort them into bundles of ten or so." Casa handed her a roll of string, "Keep them together with this."

"Right then!" Saraslha surveyed the vast expanse of carrot field. "It's us versus endless thousands of super carrots. The battle shall be legendary."

Casa huffed with amusement. "The Andersons are already getting started on that end of the field, and a dozen or so more people will probably turn up. The harvest is a community effort; if produce doesn't get picked and packaged on time it effects the entire town."

Saraslha crouched down and grabbed a carrot stem, easily ripping it off without uprooting the carrot itself. She silently scolded herself at this, "I'm guessing there are machines that can do this, but the owner of this farm can't splurge on one."

"That's what we call a developing economy. Harvesters are specialized to one form of crop and rather expensive, and most farmers here get by on light tier tractors that don't have the horsepower to run one anyway."

"So when the process isn't mechanized, humans have to sink their time into farming for their sustenance." Saraslha slammed her foot into the dirt next to the carrot row. She proceeded to pull the carrots out with less resistance. The orange root vegetables were inordinately fat, and looked delicious. Saraslha was accustomed to meat and condensed vespene, and this plant foot seemed exotic to her. It wasn't hers though, so she resisted the urge to take a bite.

"Pretty much, yes," Casa said. "For the vast majority of Earth's history, more than half of all Terrans were farmers." Casa had already strung together 2 bundles of the fat carrots.

Saraslha saw this, and hastened her picking and bundling in an effort to catch up. "Youch, if I were a Terran I'd worship machinery. For all the time it saves me."

"Come now, that's a fair bit of overstatement, don't you think?"

"I'd take machinery out to dinner, buy it flowers and show it the care, attention and respect it deserved."

"And eventually settle down to raise a family with it." Casa jumped aboard the joke, "and have twisted zerg-machine children."

"You're puttin' pictures in my head, Casa." Saraslha was on her third bundle, Casa on her fifth. "Like if somebody took an ultralisk and tacked Terran armor and weapon systems on it."

"Would that be effective in battle?"

"I gotta admit, I'm skeptical." Saraslha skipped stomping the ground and committed to just pulling the carrots out by the stems less abruptly. "If you're going to add mass to an ultralisk, why not just make its existing armor thicker, and add a spore launcher to its back or something? You'd get them hatched and into the field a lot faster than running each one through a fitting gantry."

"Come now, you must admit there's theatrical value. The only thing scarier than an ultra would be a screaming cyborg ultra that's shooting missiles at you."

Saraslha shrugged in concession, "now that I think about it… Stukov is really big on psychological warfare, he might actually pull something like that."

"Stukov, you mean… the vice admiral of the UED expeditionary fleet, during the Brood War?"

"He's infested now, and my mother's most powerful general no matter how much Kilysa denies it."

"That's right, you know loads about the Swarm, don't you?" Casa said anxiously, "the Dominion really must get around to debriefing you."

"Are you loyal to the Dominion?"

Casa nodded, "my parents are quite patriotic and I grew up around soldiers, so that naturally rubbed off on me."

The monotony of harvesting carrots by hand continued like this for some time until a tractor approached pulling a flatbed wagon. They loaded the bundles they made before it moved on. Hours passed by, the warm sun approached noon, and many more people were visible in the field as well. Saraslha stood straight for a moment and spotted Constance some distance away, crouched down and picking intently with her Khalai regalia absent and her flanel overshirt worn like a towel over the nape of her neck, to be periodically used as a sweat rag.

Saraslha crouched back down and resumed picking, hoping they wouldn't get close enough to talk.

As she worked, Saraslha felt an uncomfortable, painful stiffness of the sort she hadn't felt since the Neo Hybrid Crisis. She looked at her hand and noticed brightly colored hair-thin roots creeping out of the folds of her carapace. Then she remembered fully: a messed up trait that awakened after her growth spurt, in which internal plant matter would be triggered by ultraviolet light and try to reinforce her bone structure and muscles, which would be an enormous boon if she never had to _move._

Saraslha stood straight abruptly. This new range of motion created waves of exhausting resistance and pain as she pushed past it, tearing the internal and external root growth. She couldn't hold back the reflex to groan form the pain.

"Are you alright, Saraslha?" Casa saw this, and stood up from what she was doing.

Saraslha clenched her teeth, still bent backward and staring up at the bright sun in the sky; the system's star, fresh waves of pain as the roots persistently tried to grow inside her; if she kept moving they wouldn't be able to overwhelm her muscles. "…I'm fine, Casa. Don't worry yourself." She bent back forward to a position still relatively unclaimed by the roots.

"You appear to be in pain," Casa said soberly.

"I'm a de-facto vampire now, thanks to my mom. It's a minor nuisance, though; nothing to be concerned over." She turned her head to Casa, grinning. "Let's keep going, shall we?"

* * *

**Day 3**

**Morning**

Constance found Saraslha on a bench outside in the grass, a shaded spot near the library door. Her book was opened and being read. Distant, regular gunshots were audible from a live fire exercise being done in the outdoor shooting range in the distance. The farm girl approached the zerg from behind. "Would you like to know why I attacked you the other day?"

Saraslha didn't lift her gaze from the book. "The zerg are the devil. Baggage, loss, the usual story." She winced, "the actions of my people aren't lost on me—"

"Because when I saw you, I thought I saw a tiger." Constance cut her off. "Strong, fast, confident. But all you've been acting like the past couple of days is a dog; whimpering, subservient." She spat the ground.

"Sure, whatever you say Constance," Saraslha said dispassionately.

Constance grit her teeth, anxiously pacing away from Saraslha, then she wheeled back toward her. "You're pathetic!" She shouted.

"Are you done venting? I thought you said I'm not your therapist."

"I'm just saying, Saraslha." Constance had switched to an amicable tone, standing behind her bench. "You have to view things the way they are, not the way you wish they could be, and judge the vestigial things accordingly so you can be rid of them."

Saraslha was silent, focusing on her book.

"Can you imagine what it'd be like to let your house be filled with only marginally worthwhile things? You have to think about what those things are; useless things, -like you—and throw it all to the wind! Then the world becomes a better place without it."

Saraslha jolted to motion with lightning speed, -yes, a speed she hardly ever used. A fist came around in a full hook as Saraslha shot to her feet, turning to face Constance with her punch. Saraslha's fist was caught in Constance's hand, and in catching the punch Constance felt that strength; the superhuman strength that was wasted on Saraslha. All gifts which this lowlife squandered in her cesspit of useless emotion. Constance's own psi-enhanced strength was a match for her zerg muscles, so the punch could be blocked.

"Did that strike a nerve, Zerg-Dog?" Constance was beaming with gratification. "Are you ready to be put beneath my boot? Take up your rightful place there?" Constance's voice elevated as the thrill of imminent battle filled her mind. Finally aggression, justification, the ability to put this zerg into the ground without consequence.

Saraslha's heaving breaths from her burst of rage slowed. On her own, she became more subdued, lowering her fist and then picking up her book, taking a deep breath as she glared at Constance.

"A coward as I assumed..." Constance shook her head. "Can't say I'm surprised, in any case."

Saraslha shut her eyes as she turned and walked away. The indifferent sounds of gunfire from the distant range persisted.

"That's right, back to your little house, Zerg-Dog. Gotta get that hole dug, your bone buried, and waste more peoples' perfectly good seconds of life looking at your whimpering mass."

Saraslha stopped and turned back to look at Constance.

"Got something to say?"

Saraslha winced uncomfortably, then turned away again and left.

* * *

**Midday**

"She pisses me off, Casa," Saraslha was riding in Casa's truck as she drove them along an uphill dirt road flanked by woodland. "Is Constance going to wake up every morning from now on and think to herself: 'boy, I wonder how I'm going to make Saraslha's life miserable today?' Can't she just… get a freaking life?" Saraslha was pinching the flesh on the far side of her forehead in an otherwise relaxed posture.

"You've partaken in at least some war and killing, have you not?" Casa said, "it can't be more unpleasant than that."

"This is more intimate. There's no goal to focus on, no sense of purpose; you don't have a job to do. It's only that person, and the petty shit you have to process and they'll have an infinite supply of to throw at you. It's like fantasy land, but drab and insufferable."

"That doesn't sound like Constance," Casa was frowning. "She dislikes people like that just as much. I think you're lumping her in with other people who annoy you."

Saraslha shrugged, "yeah, to be fair she's clear about what she wants from me. I'm just averse to fighting enemies in person."

"She would call you a coward for that."

"It's my comfort zone…" Saraslha said in an exasperated tone. "In all my past battles, keeping myself safe from the enemy made the most sense."

"In a duel where you won't be killed if you lose, you lose that rationale."

Saraslha's eyes shut, she didn't answer.

Casa looked toward her in the cab of the truck, then ahead again, sighing. "I know Constance can be… a handful, but there is an internal consistency underneath all that hostility. If you earn her respect, she'll stop trying to make your life hell."

"I'm no slouch at reading people myself, and that girl hates zerg, hates the Xel'Naga for making zerg, and will never come around to any individual who shares their DNA."

"Liking somebody, and respecting them are two very different things."

Seconds went by as Saraslha processed this, "good argument. What do you suggest I do, accept the fight?"

"You don't have to do what she wants, you just have to present a backbone. Assert yourself, and be honest about your intentions: What you plan to do here in the Republic, plan to do in the future, and what you think of everything, especially her."

"In other words, be myself."

"The thing you've been restraining yourself from doing." The truck came to a steel building which occupied a clearing in the woodland, with an expanse of dirt parking lot in front of it. A sign near the main doorway had a conspicuous lettering:

_Republic Biological Laboratories._

Casa pulled the truck into a vaguely defined slot in line with the other parked vehicles, then shut off the engine while leaving it in gear. "We have arrived. Don't be nervous, Doctor Hanson will be excited to meet you." Casa opened her door and hopped out.

Saraslha did the same, "you said that she might be able to fix my plant mutation. I hope that's true."

"She's been studying zerg biology for nearly a decade, and was able to create the infestation vaccine."

They walked together through the front doors of the lab. Just inside they were greeted by two power-armored humans, and they were covered with features of infestation.

"Don't mind them," Casa said. "A lot of infested help out here. It's difficult for them to find work elsewhere, despite their physical prowess."

"I don't mind them at all," Saraslha said as she and Casa walked past them. "If their minds weren't somehow insulated from their zerg cells, I'd be able to form a link with them."

"Because of the modified T-killer cells which—oh, speak of the devil," Casa took them in an altered direction. "Doctor! I've brought her over."

Ariel Hanson didn't look any different from other humans to Saraslha; her first impression of the terran was indifferent, that was until the woman walked right up to Saraslha, reached to grab her clawed hand and shook it without any apprehension. "I'm very happy you've accepted my invitation, Saraslha."

The last time a human made physical contact with Saraslha without any provocation, she'd freaked out and Rindell made the poor fellow wet himself. It was happening again, but Saraslha bit back her reaction; this human could help her. "How, uh… how's it going, science lady?" Saraslha had a silly grin, trying and failing to contain her anxiety.

Hanson let go, maintaining a dignified composure as she combed a bit of hair back with her fingers, "It's a promising day with you here. A pure zerg, made using human DNA could provide us with further insight on zerg biology; specifically in what manner your race's common genetic traits interface with those which are specific to us."

Saraslha had an amused smirk, "I don't mind needles, but do you mind sharing your findings with me?"

"Oh, do you pursue the sciences as well?"

"Biology, exclusively, without any knowledge of the advanced jargon Terran thinkers would use."

Hanson turned, "walk with me." They followed, "Casa's informed me on your plant-based defects, and I certainly don't mind paying the favor forward if the data we glean from you leads to improvement on our infestation vaccine."

Saraslha nodded at this, "Given what you've accomplished, you definitely seemed worth a visit."

They reached a space in the open floor of the laboratory with several rows of counters with electronic implements and refrigeration units filed with sample jars. Hanson opened a small case on one of the counters and took out a syringe. "Let's start with a simple blood sample," As she said this, her eyes panned over Saraslha's anatomy. "Is there… a good place for a needle to penetrate you?"

Saraslha gestured the terran doctor to hand her the needle.

Hanson obliged, and Saraslha opened her mouth and jammed the needle under her tongue. The vacuum-filled extraction canister filled with red blood, and Saraslha removed it and handed it back. "The mouth's a pretty soft area, though to do it with a feral zerg you'll probably want to pull its teeth out first."

"Very good," Hanson went back to the counter and put the syringe into a refrigerator. "Now…" She turned back to Saraslha while holding in a welling of energized excitement. "It's not every day we get a pure zerg specimen that's alive, and not only that, but one which consents to being examined…" She speed walked past Saraslha sizing her up. "Your humanoid shape is laden with features of the second-generation queen strain…"

"She means the ones who walk on land and shoot acid spines," Casa translated for Saraslha.

"That would be my mother," Saraslha said. "Half my DNA comes from her, and she's a broodmother; a slim minority of queens whose psionic potential awakened."

"And what's the purpose of this part?" Hanson had crouched down, closely staring at Saraslha's skirt of appendages and skin membrane which extended past her knees even in their contracted state.

"I use it to fly."

"How does it allow flight?"

"External microbes that convert energy into its kinetic form, then proceed to impact on the membrane in mass numbers."

"Okay, that's…" Hanson stood straight, "A lot to wrap my head around. I assume the kinetic force comes from their cells having an abundance of the Latonisome; an organelle unique to the zerg?"

Saraslha nodded, "if that's the label you've given them I'll roll with it."

"A cell with enough latonisomes to move independently would have to live off a constant inflow of external energy." Hanson aimed a hand forward as she had this thought aloud.

"They die as soon as the host dies, or they're separated from it. You'd have to fly right underneath a live brood war queen to see them intact and doing their thing."

"And that's why I've never encountered the flight microbe before," the terran scientist said eagerly.

Saraslha had a giddy smile, "I think I'm going to have a lot of fun here."

Casa had been standing there, quiet until now, "I suppose I can… leave you alone here for a while, Saraslha?"

"Yes indeed. My plant root quirk needs to die, there's work to do." She looked at Casa, "I'll have to miss this evening's urubu hunt."

"Indeed…"

"You brought me to a laboratory with another biologist. This was bound to happen."

"No, no, of course. It was obvious you were in a lot of pain in the sun yesterday. If this presents a chance to fix that then I can certainly hunt urubu alone." Casa turned to leave, "I'll have made dinner by eighteen hundred hours, return to the room by then if you're hungry."

"Thanks, Casa. Take care." Saraslha said.

* * *

**Afternoon**

Casa was sitting alone in a small wooden hunting blind deep in the forest. A rugged, yet at second glance high-quality rifle leaned against the corner ahead of her, well in reach with its muzzle aimed upward. Through the viewing port of the blind she observed a clearing in the trees, with a pile of super carrots lain deliberately in plain view.

An urubu, a flightless avian creature with a large hooked beak, trotted into the clearing and stood over the bait. It scanned its surroundings from this position, snapping its head in different positions to allow its eyes to pan a full circumference. Satisfied, it proceeded to grab a carrot in its beak and chomp it in half, moving the oversized top and bottom of its beak outward and inward to chew what it had. Casa didn't lift her rifle, or take a shot at it.

An hour passed like this. More urubu came to eat the bait, others left, and then a different-looking avian showed up. This urubu had a darker beak, and tall, ornamental feathers along its back; it was a male.

Heart racing with eagerness, Casa lifted her rifle, set it silently to rest on the sill of her blind's viewing port, and looked at the crowd of critters through the scope. The rifle's gauss coil was switched off, leaving only the base powder charge to propel the bullet. Casa's rifle was designed to puncture armor with the coil switched on, and shooting an animal with too powerful a round would ruin the meat.

To avoid stunting the creatures' population, only the males were legal to hunt, and even then only during certain times of the year.

As Casa readied to shoot, her phone vibrated. Now wincing with annoyance, she took it out, saw the name, and hit the answer key, "yes, mother. What is it?" She whispered with a hint of annoyance.

"_What are you doing right now, Casa?" _A serious, deadpan voice on the other end said.

"Hunting." As she said this, she moved an eye to look through the scope again, attempting to re-aim her rifle to the male urubu with one hand.

"_Is Saraslha with you?"_

"No, she's at…" she winced, trying to aim with her other hand busy holding a phone to her ear, "Hanson's bio lab."

"_I suppose as long as you know where she is and where she'll be…"_

Casa squeezed the trigger, the rifle discharged with an earsplitting crack. The male urubu was killed instantly as the others scattered in different directions at full speed. She now spoke in a natural voice, "If I insist on being in her presence 'round the clock it would appear suspicious. You really needn't breathe down my neck, mother."

"_You agreed to be Asset Fifteen's handler, and I'm __**your**__ handler. Agents report up the ladder on a regular basis even if there's nothing to report. Suck it up, Casa."_

Casa got to her feet and lowered her head to open the small door and exit the hunting blind, still holding the phone to her ear with the rifle in her other hand, "I understand, mother." She headed away from the clearing and to her truck. The creature weighed at least 140 kilograms, and dragging it any considerable distance would be exhausting. Bringing the truck to it made a lot more sense. "I'll continue to monitor her behavior, and you'll get daily reports."

"_Good, now… what did you shoot?" _The voice on the other end said this in a more casual, amicable tone.

"Urubu. Nailed its center of mass with one hand."

A humming laughter on the other end, _"that's my girl. I'll talk to you later." _She hung up.

Casa backed her truck into the clearing, near the dead urubu. She then proceeded to laboriously lift one half of its body up to the tailgate, "Saraslha, you asshole…" She let it drop, then tried again with a better grip. "'Let's hunt urubu, Casa,'" she muttered in an imitation of Saraslha's voice. "'I can carry the whole beast back on my shoulders, Casa.'" She finally got enough of its body over the tailgate that it remained there, and she could slide it further into the truck's bucket.

* * *

**Evening**

Saraslha walked out of the Republic Bio Lab Compound just as the sun was going down. The staff had all reached the end of their shifts, humans had to sleep and they didn't want her inside the building alone, and so Doctor Hanson's collaborative effort had to be put off until tomorrow.

Casa had taken her truck. Saraslha expected this, and set off running along the dirt path which led back to the open fields near the town of Durell. The sun was nearly down, and Saraslha didn't feel her root growth agitate under the shade of the tall woodland flanking the trail.

A figure was standing in the middle of the trail, and Saraslha slowed to a walk as she approached. The wind was blowing, whistling through the trees as their leaf and pine-laden foliage rustled in the dim lighting of late dusk. A bit closer, and she recognized the person, facing her direction, waiting for her with her hands in the pockets of her billowing trench coat. Saraslha reached out with telepathy, _"this has got to stop, Constance."_

"_It will, as soon as you're done being cowardly."_

"_Say you plant my face into the dirt, see me driven before you, and whatever other unsightly things occupy your fantasy… Then what?" _Saraslha walked calmly closer to her.

"_You're asking me what I'd do afterward?"_

"_I'm asking you whether you even know what you want."_

"_I think I've made that clear."_

"_Will it make you happy?"_

"_It will satisfy me."_

"_For how long?"_

"_I don't care."_

Now they were up close, face to face. Constance was taller than Saraslha by 12 centimeters, and looked down to meet Saraslha's blue eyes with a calm, yet still intense expression. _"You live in the world, Zerg Dog, and it's full of people like me. Are you going to shrink away from all of them?"_

"_Does that look like what I'm doing right now?"_

"_I don't know," _Constance crooked an eyebrow. _"I'm waiting in unpleasant anticipation, for when you hunch down, curl your lower lip and walk away like a pathetic loser."_

Saraslha's eyes shut in concentration; focused thought. _"I heard some of your story, so it's only fair you know mine. The last time I acted like myself, people were killed, and my mother, my only family in life, threw me out like an inconvenient noise. And now, you want to bring that side of me out. Is it so unbelievable that I want to avoid that?"_

The wind settled, lowering the woods to dead silence. Then it picked up again in a new direction, causing the woods to rustle with motion again. Constance replied, _"'we can't be anything more, or less, than what we are.' The protoss woman who trained me in psionics said that to me. The wind is the wind, the universe is the universe and it's the same with life." _Her voice elevated,_ "You don't get to invent your own reality and pretend to be something else, Princess Saraslha of the ravenous Zerg Swarm."_

Saraslha's blue eyes shot open. Her voice had become simultaneously vocal and telepathic, _"I was born weak, but nonetheless I adapted, I found a way to not only thrive, but bury and extinguish any threat to my existence. You wish to see how I accomplished this, and I will oblige you."_

Constance had taken a step back as she adopted a fighting stance. A wristband with a red gem sparked with energy that wrapped around over her forearm, materializing as a black-armored gauntlet lined with red crystals and energy. The red gem was encrusted in the center of the bracer to facilitate the ignition of a red psi blade past her hand, which formed into a wicked curve as it reached its full 60 centimeter length. Finally she would have a real fight, without restrictions, without witnesses. Finally she would put this zerg dog in her place, beat her as much as she pleased, plant her face into the ground and press until her zerg skull cracked. Constance beamed with sadistic gratification at these thoughts, her fingers twitching with anticipation.

She repeated a mantra familiar to her. "Only power yields victory. Only strength can rule." She raised her psi-blade to Saraslha with an unspoken challenge and spoke with bared fangs. "Only fools think otherwise. Now we will contest!"

"I'm not going to fight you." Saraslha said plainly, in her physical voice.

Constance's anticipation, excitement, joy, it all fell away as her psi blade doused and she stared at Saraslha with a sullen ire. "What?"

Saraslha's gaze hadn't become any less intense, in fact it was more so as it peered into Constance's, "you wanted a taste of my power, and now you're feeling it. Were you expecting it to be pleasant?"

Constance twitched, anger welling up as she bared her teeth, "you're ducking out again like a fucking cow—"

"_Give _me a reason to fight you. One, to lift my fingers and make the effort on your account. You can't touch me unless I give you cause, by attacking first or giving consent. Give me a reason."

"Pride,"

"Is not subject to you."

"Your nature as a zerg,"

"Is to pursue evolution and survival, neither of which I would gain."

"You're just making excuses for yourself," Constance growled, "you'll say anything to make yourself feel better, because the truth is you're just ducking away from a challenge once again. You take comfort in running in the face of real opposition!"

Saraslha walked past Constance without replying or addressing what she'd said.

Heart pounding, teeth grinding with rage, Constance turned her facing to Saraslha and shouted, "You'll have to fight me at some point, Saraslha. You can't scurry like a rat forever!"

Saraslha stopped, and turned back, her face remaining indifferent. Her mouth opened to speak. "Earn it."

As Saraslha resumed walking away, Constance was left alone in the nighttime woodland. The wind continued rustling the green foliage as it whistled past the trees. Her energy gauntlet flashed briefly before being reabsorbed into her red-gem wristband, before she stalked away; tailcoat trailing in the howling din.

* * *

**Day 4**

What the hell do people get so uppity about? Constance strolled the outside of the psi academy with her usual annoyed expression. Thoughts of things people say; things that annoyed her ran through her head. Constance the bully, Constance the antisocial, Constance whom we're going to talk about in hushed tones when she's right near us and then pretend that she can't hear our amateur attempts to hide our gossip because we're too damn cowardly to say anything to her face!

And then Saraslha. A brief flash of gratification came to Constance's mind, the punch her eyes almost couldn't follow, the strike she almost couldn't block effectively. Finally a challenge! An equal! Seconds ticked by, and the gratification vanished. But _no._ She has to be a sullen self-sabotaging sop, whining about how mommy doesn't love her anymore.

"Arrrgh!" She vented out loud as she stopped walking. Another psi apprentice, studying at a picnic table heard her and nervously picked up, got on his feet and walked away. Constance turned around and headed back toward the nearest door. Saraslha was probably in the rec room, hanging out with Casa. They were constantly together, and even shared an apartment. It's like they were sisters or something. "Ugh," she shook her head at this thought. Casa was alright but she had poor taste in friends.

* * *

"I'm having a wonderful day today, Casa." Saraslha was slouching in a rec room chair, a half-drained canister of condensed vespene sat on the table in front of her. "You've been generous enough to let me stay at your place, and the Hanson lady invited me back to the lab to talk shop and work on living cells. I might be free of my root growth vampirism before long."

"I'm happy for you, Saraslha." Casa said this plainly as she took a handful of freshly cut red steaks and set them on a plate. She took this to the table and set it down. "There's no word on when the Directorate invasion will be here either, that could mean it's still far off."

Saraslha was looking at the steaks on Casa's plate, "it looks like your urubu hunt went well without me."

"Indeed, loading it was no fun though, _Saraslha._" She picked up one of the raw steaks in her hand, letting blood drizzle on her hand.

"I get it, yeesh." Saraslha rolled her eyes as she took another sip of her vespene, eyeing the raw meat in Casa's hand. "Aren't you going to cook that first—"

Casa took a hefty bite out of the red meat, proceeding to chew it in a manner which kept it concentrated between her rear molars. She finally swallowed, "no, that's quite alright. Raw meat has its own appeal."

Saraslha was dumbfounded, her eyes beads. "Won't that make you sick?"

"No, it won't." Casa took another bite.

Now Saraslha's eyes were slits, "how?"

Casa chewed and swallowed. "It's quite the story. Have you ever heard of a fellow named Dehaka?"

Saraslha's brow followed suit to match her narrowed eyes, "Blue primal zerg, leader of the Viper Dragoons mercenary army?"

"That's him!" Casa said brightly. "When I was little he fed me regurgitated meat, and I acquired some of his stomach bacteria."

"Whoa, hey, let's unpack this," Saraslha sat straight, now leaning forward. "You met Dehaka earlier in life, and he didn't kill you."

"No he didn't. Were actually good friends now."

Saraslha was processing this in a dispassionate, disbelieving mood, "no matter how many planets there are, it will always be a small world…"

"What's your… experience, with Dehaka?"

Saraslha wanted to let loose with her opinion, but she sensed Casa held him in high regard, so she bit it back. "He's ah… really brave, I'll give him that."

Casa had a flat expression, "Saraslha, please. He was a stick up your arse, was he not?"

"Yes he was," Saraslha said in immediate release.

Casa had a light smile at this. She put the rest of the raw steak in her mouth.

"Saraslha!" A new voice, Constance burst through the door, stopping at the entrance at seeing the two at the table talking.

"What do you want, Constance?" Saraslha said.

"Since you…" Constance eyed the can of vespene on Saraslha's side of the table, "consume a valuable resource for sustenance, perhaps you'd be willing to join me on a surveying expedition to uncover a new deposit?"

"We can just… do that? We don't need a permit or anything?"

"I have the permit right here," Constance held out a piece of paper she'd ripped off a bulletin board. "Latest orbital scans suggest a large underground deposit in the area around Mount Alfhild. Our town is the closest and the Council wants volunteers to head out and verify the size and accessibility of the underground deposit."

Saraslha stood on her feet, "and how do I know you don't have an ulterior motive? Maybe you just want to get me far away from civilization so you don't need my consent to whip out that red blade and get slashing."

"Oh, you think I give a shit about witnesses? I'd beat your ass in broad daylight at the center of town if I wanted to, Zerg-Dog."

"Or... you know," a crooked smirk. "Bait me with words so I hit first. Maybe you should get your head checked by one of the senior psychics, because I think your short-term memory is failing."

"Is that some bite I'm hearing from you?" Constance had a smugness to match. "Maybe I won't be bored out of my mind after all."

Saraslha crossed her arms, "Maybe being stuck with you for a while is the only way anybody will learn how to put up with you."

"You coming or not?"

"Sure."

Casa had gotten on her feet as they spoke and walked between them, setting a hand on each of their shoulder. "If you two are heading out on a joint venture, I'm coming as well, to ensure you don't kill each other."

"Don't you have marksmanship instruction to do today?" Constance said.

"You mean the class you seldom bother to attend? No, I don't hold it on Sundays," Casa said.

Constance smiled genuinely, "Don't take it personally, Casa. Guns just aren't for me."

Saraslha was cracking up at this. "Guns are so awesome even I use them. It's one of the things that allow squishy Terrans to fight with the big boys. Why would you pass it up?"

"Shoosh, Zerg, I wasn't talking to you," Constance said.

"I'm gonna love trekking miles away from civilization with you," Saraslha said this sarcastically.

"Mm, me too," Constance's face occupied a middle ground between an antagonistic glare and a taunting smirk, "let's just hope there isn't any unfortunate…" She raised her left hand, which bore the wristband and blood red gem that projected a psi blade the other night. "Tragedy. The Dominion would be so cross if its high-value zerg asset got its repugnant ass killed in the woods."

Casa interjected, "you're both of potential utility to the Dominion…" She'd walked back to the counter and picked up her bag of raw meat, "and we're taking my truck. Let's go." She walked past them.

As the three of them were leaving the Psi Grounds, they passed by Uther Domz, the tame infested Terran. _"Where are you three going in such a hurry?" _At seeing him, Constance sneered and looked away.

"Vespene expedition," Saraslha said, "We'll probably be gone all day."

"_Can I come with you guys?" _Uther said hopefully.

Constance wheeled around, speaking before Saraslha replied, "No, you may not, now go back to your own little corner of the world before I beat you senseless and send you there you disgusting bag of slime!" Saraslha and Casa stopped walking, staring at Constance's outburst.

"_Okay, okay," _Uther was submissive._ "I didn't mean to upset you, Miss Hai…"_

"Just fuck off!"

Uther walked away, Constance turned back to Casa and Saraslha, having immediately calmed.

"Do you have… some sort of history?" Saraslha said.

"Infested humans are more detestable than hatched zerg like you could ever hope to be," Constance said to Saraslha. "I… helped Uther in the past. He feels he owes me and wouldn't leave me alone for a long time. It was infuriating, and yelling at him is the only way to keep him from bugging me."

"If you hate infested so much, why did you help him in the past?"

"I was young and stupid." The trio reached Casa's truck. Saraslha rode shotgun at Constance's insistence, who in turn climbed into the back.

* * *

A drill bit was suspended over the barren, airless surface of the grey moon whose expanse of craters and hills of wildly varying ages was the only visible topology. The system's star shone brightly in the sky; a solar system so far out of the zone designated as the Koprulu sector as to be considered outside its malleable border.

A miner was operating the drill from the livable safety of a sealed bridge, and was spoken to over radio, _"that's a good spot to make the first shaft. Go ahead and drop the bit, Bob."_

Bob complied with this, priming several subsystems in preparation before letting the drill bit drop into the moon's sediment. The shaft of the drill began rotating at high speed as it drove the bit further into the ground, heating to a red temper before water was released to flow down its hollow center, sinking the heat.

"_So, has the Chief decided which tin pot warlord or pirate gang we're selling our vespene yield to this week?" _Chatter over Bob's radio.

"_Probably gonna be ol' Mira Han again." _A third voice, _"she's become a real cheapskate lately, making runs out to outer rim mining colonies like ours for fuel and ore."_

"They've all tightened their belts," Bob said to the radio, closely watching the drill as the top of its shaft ejected boiling water and sediment, which reached a grand height and arced noncommittally back down to the barren surface from the moon's weak gravity. "The last major war was… what, six years ago? Mercenary work is a shrinking market, and the Dominion Core Fleet, Umojan Professional Forces and Kel Morian Security firms have nothing better to do than guard shipping lanes from pirate activity."

"_You got your eye on the damn drill, Bob?"_

"I'm watching the damn drill, don't get your knickers in a bunch." He released the transmit button on his radio, then pressed it again, "you gonna be able to get the pumping rig to this site?"

"_Yeah…" _He said with a rustic inflection. _"You'll see me drive up in about half an hour."_

The third voice over the radio, _"when do you guys think the next major war will pop up? If history's anything to go by, Koprulu's overdue for the next explosion of zerg aggression."_

"_I hear a lot of crazy shit happened last war," _the second voice._ "and people in the sector sort it in two separate conflicts one after the other. Guys that made it back from one battle say they went to a different dimension and fought Space Cthulhu or somethin'."_

"The Second Great War, and the End War," Bob pressed his transmit button. "The Swarm is now ruled by someone named Zagara, and they're trading with the Dominion."

"_I hope that drill ain't overheating, Bob."_

"Won't you shut up about the drill, Carl. It's at one click depth and temperature's a steady ninety Celsius."

"_I'll tell you guys what sets off the next war," _The third voice again, _"Somebody's gonna go to Protoss space, then do something reeeeaaly stupid that pokes the bear. You just watch, it'll probably be the Dominion tryin' to suck some of the zeta compound out of Cleos or Gandara 'cause they never have enough damn capital ships."_

Bob was going to mention that the Swarm was selling zeta compound to the Dominion, but something in the starry sky caught his attention. When his head and eyes panned upward and he activated an amplification scope to view the distance in more detail, his gut sank, fear welled up in his mind, and slowly, his finger went to the transmit button. "War… is definitely about to come, you guys."

A Terran fleet larger than any he had seen, any that had ever orbited Tarsonis, Korhal, or a world under human invasion, a fleet whose sheer gleaming metallic mass dominated his view of the space above had exited Warp Space in the system. Yet more ships continued to exit warp space, expanding the volume of gleaming metal to even greater proportions.

It didn't stop. A sea of battlecruisers, bulk transport craft of similar size, supply and logistics carriers, and then three colossal silhouettes that made the battlecruisers look like mice by comparison. Bob had no doubt that this was the largest fleet ever assembled by the human race, and there was only one place from which it could have come. A place, even from their present location on the far flung fringes of Koprulu space, was so distant and difficult to reach as to be mythical,

"…Earth."

* * *

**Exile of the Swarm is a work in progress. Chapters 2 and 3 are complete and will be released weekly as we work on future chapters.**

**All feedback is welcome and we listen to it closely.**

**Including criticism- Yes, I understand FF's reputation; the repuation of its authors, so let me say this right here: I will NEVER argue with critics of my work. I won't shoot back, I won't try to prove them wrong. In the past I've politely corrected people on a purely facts/accuracy basis, but I'm done doing that now as well.**

**If I think a piece of criticism makes good points, I will acknowledge those good points. If I don't understand the criticism I will politely request clarification. And if I disagree with a piece of criticism or think it inaccurate or unfair, I will remain silent regarding it.**

**Criticism from external sources, however unpleasant and unwelcome, is one of the most profitable things an author can be given. It can wake them up to their flaws and weak areas while motivating them to solve those flaws. Not all criticism is good, not all of it is helpful, but all criticism, without exception, is time which somebody else chose to spend analyzing your work, and it's wrong to take that for granted.**

**I hope you all have a wonderful day!**


	2. The Trinity Forms

**Co-author's credit goes to Fangtom for idea sharing, literary contributions and the use of his OCs and ideas.**

**www fanfiction net /u/6438087/**

**And special thanks to Consort for the use of his OC, as well as his kind words of encouragement.**

**www fanfiction net /u/8072559/**

* * *

_Koprulu Military Doctrines_

_Subject: Artanis_

_The Protoss war leader whose exploits led to his election to the position of hierarch upon the formation of the Daelaam Protectorate following the Brood War, Artanis was heavily involved in the First Great War, the Brood War and the End War._

_When the Overmind's Swarm secured its foothold on the Protoss homeworld during the First Great War, then-Executor Artanis led a sizable army in the defense of Aiur, where he displayed a greater aptitude for combating zerg forces than any other Protoss commander; his strategies against them were effective, and he consistently managed to avoid battles of attrition which favor the zerg._

_In a broader sense, Artanis was an exceptional Protoss commander because of his capacity to abandon dignity. The Khalai in this period were accustomed to fighting vastly inferior threats, and had grown used to the luxury of fighting enemy armies head-on and placing no emphasis on deception and subterfuge; a complacent military doctrine which would be used to disastrous effect against the Overmind's Swarm. Artanis was the first Khalai commander to reinvent ancient and universal principles of warfare which his people thought were no longer needed. He would use terrain to his advantage, willfully decieve his enemies, and passive-aggressively harass stronger armies while striking without mercy at any vulnerable point he found, and found often with his productive habit of scouting the enemy relentlessly, never losing track of an enemy army's movements and never being taken by surprise._

_While Artanis never lost a battle in the First Great War, he could not stop his peoples' slow defeat at the hands of the Swarm._

_Artanis was in that period the man behind Tassadar's man. The commander who won battle after battle, even gaining the upper hand against the far stronger Conclave forces comprised of his own people. It was during the decisive battle in which the Overmind was slain where another capability of the then-Executor can be studied: An exceptional ability to direct a multiracial army._

_The rebel army of James Raynor, at the time allied with the Protoss, had committed itself to the final assault against the Zerg Overmind, and whether it was due to his xenophilic sentiments or plain military genius, Artanis understood the strengths and weaknesses of a Terran army, and with Raynor deferring to Artanis' command during the battle, the then-Executor used these forces in well-coordinated tandem with his own, and did so to devastating effect. The first Protoss-Terran multiracial army in Koprulu history was a wrecking ball which broke through the sizable zerg force dedicated to protecting the Overmind._

_Artanis' ability to lead a large, highly varied army would again be displayed during the End War, where he led an alliance of Khalai, Nerazim, Purifiers and Tal'Darim to victory against Amon's forces._

_In conclusion, now-Hierarch Artanis' strategic and tactical innovations were indispensable to modernizing the Protoss' military doctrine on the ground. The Khalai's formation of and reliance on a powerful starfleet in the air and space can be attributed to the equally innovative doctrines implemented by High Executor Selendis, for whom a full article is dedicated. It is the opinion of this writer that if a coalition of all three major races of the Koprulu sector were formed, Artanis would be its ideal commander._

* * *

The Directorate fleet had followed a trail of warp points over a 9 month voyage, drawing closer to the region of space known as the Koprulu Sector. This fleet was accompanied by an equally vast logistics train and operated by skeleton crews as the majority of personnel spent the time in cryo stasis where their resource consumption would be minimized.

Now, as they exited warp space in a star system mere days away from Koprulu Space, the personnel of the armada were awakened.

Field Marshal Fredrick Carolius entered the bridge of the Armada flagship, the Superbattlecruiser Durendal; one of three warships of its class. The bridge crew were moving to their stations, still shaking off the effects of cryo stasis. He walked across the isle of the bridge to the broad, windshield-like viewing port at the end, overlooking the span of the battleship and fleet surrounding it.

Marshal Fredrick himself was nearly 1.8 meters in height with a slender frame. His combed over hair and thick, shaggy circle beard were greyed, and his eyes looked on the world with a wizened, knowledgeable detachment. The skin around these eyes were embattled and marked by decades of life. A hand from his regimented posture reached absentmindedly to rub the chin under his beard.

"Marshal," a data analyst on the bridge said, "sensors detect human life signs on the moon of the third planet in this system. It appears to be a mining colony."

An overhead image of the tiny mining operation was displayed. The Marshal's mouth opened to speak, a soft-spoken, high-pitched voice that nonetheless ran along a leathery vocal pitch. "They're to be left alone," the Marshal said. "Initiate a fleet-wide audio broadcast before our next jump."

A new voice, "are you certain that is a wise decision, Marshal?"

Fredrick turned to see a tidy and sharp-featured officer. "Yes Jian. I'm certain."

"If we let those dirt miners be, they will report the existence of this fleet. Our presence will be confirmed to the inhabitants of Koprulu."

"I'm of the persuasion that nothing can stop that now." Fredrick turned to face forward again.

A comms officer on the bridge, "Marshal, the broadcast is ready. You're live in three."

_3, 2, 1…"My fellow Terrans. You are all aware of our mission, so I'll skip repeating it to you. You're also aware of your personal reasons for coming here, so I won't try to tell you that on your behalf, other than to comment on the courage required of every man and woman to undertake this mission for Humanity's future._

_Let there be no misunderstanding: We are going to war against the greatest threats humanity has ever faced. The Zerg Swarm is a nearly invincible super-organism, capable of regenerating any wound dealt to its unified mass, and devoted to the relentless destruction of all life outside its whole._

_The Protoss wield immense power, and an understanding of the universe far in excess of our own. This force of technology and psionics they wield is guided by a backward spiritualism and set of primitive superstitions. They are as powerful as their thinking is stagnant, and they must be subdued._

_And finally, the human inhabitants of Koprulu. They have survived a decade of proximity with these alien races, with the majority of their population having submitted to the rule of a dictatorship that wears the trappings of monarchy. These outcasts must be brought back into the fold, and made to see the greater good of a unified human front. For Earth, for our future and their own, they will be made to see the light and we will bring it to them, by any force necessary._

_Make no mistake that the Koprulu powers are a threat to Earth and humanity, and their recent history of war has only made them more acclimated to it. The data from our previous expedition to Koprulu is old; the Swarm has evolved, the Protoss have adapted to their new situation, and the human outcasts who call this sector home have been hardened by this prolonged war of extermination. In spite of the backward government and ethics of our distant cousins, their military prowess cannot be underestimated. _

_But we are stronger._

_Visible around you all is the greatest amassment of military force ever assembled by humanity, made possible by the undying human spirit, and drive to not only survive, but secure a shining future among the stars. You are the greatest Earth and her colonies have to offer; defenders of life, of the dream for a better world, a decent world. The forces of perpetual war and death, whom we all march to face will be met by that spirit, and they will know what you're capable of._

_We will fight. With bullets and shells and bombs, with the weapons of colossal power wielded by our battleships. The enemy will be met with an impenetrable wall of resolve, moving fervorously to crush their resistance. They will fight us with all the strength at their disposal, and in that moment know, without doubt what you can do. They will know that the potential of humanity, of you, is without limit._

"_For Earth, for the Directorate, for our loved ones, we will not fail. All hands to your stations, the Koprulu Sector awaits."_

* * *

Saraslha felt bumps in Casa's truck as she drove their group of 3 as far through the woodland trail as the vehicle would take them. They were headed to Mount Alfhild, in whose vicinity an underground vespene deposit had been detected by satellite. Their intention was to confirm the size and location of the deposit and scout a suitable location for drilling.

"Volunteer work," Saraslha said aloud from the shotgun seat of the truck. "Doing stuff for free is my comfort zone, strangely enough."

"Uh huh, sure." Constance was in the open-air back of the truck alongside a pile of metal poles and electronic devices wrapped in a tarp. She leaned in through the rear cab window. "Do us a favor, Zerg, and stay where I can see you."

"Right, you're scared of me, got it," Saraslha said this with a snide tone. "I'll also make sure you're able to see my hands."

"Feisty today, are you? What happened last night, your balls drop?"

"Pft, I'm the princess of the Swarm, hanging out with a couple of humans. You think I'm gonna be yellow 'round you?"

Saraslha had brought Branson along; the football-sized, immobile overseer whose purpose was to independently scan its surroundings and warn allies of imminent danger. He rested in her lap, two of his three eyes looking curiously out the windows of the truck cab, with the third eye turned and staring at Constance in the back.

"What's with the hairy kidney bean?" Constance said. "Does it talk?"

"Not yet," Saraslha said, smiling fondly at the small, limbless zerg. "But he's watching you, and can detect energy concentrations, thermal contrast and kinetic displacement so thoroughly that he'll know you're lighting your psi blade before it even becomes visible."

"Tell it to quit staring at me."

"No."

Their bumpy ride continued along, and Constance spoke again. "You made that gross thing in prison, right? How?"

"I used one of my own eggs, feeding it nutrients through an arterial connection."

"That's disgusting."

"You have eggs too, Constance. It's called being female."

"So does that make Branson your son?"

"No, because he doesn't share any of my DNA. He is my creation though, and we're best pals, aren't we Branson?" Saraslha held him up to face level, causing him to redirect two of his eyes to look at her. "Whose a good little jelly bean? That's right, you are!" Branson was silent, and his mouth remained closed as just kept staring.

Casa spoke, "do either of you know this area? There are no towns or cabins, and Viking Corps exercises don't make passes over it. There could be pirates, or hostile fauna."

"Is that why your gun's back here, Casa?" Constance said.

"It's always back there, but yes, I'm especially comforted to have it today."

They came to a clearing in the woods. A mound of dirt larger than a house sat in the center of this clearing in accompaniment to a pit that had been dug in the ground. Casa stopped the truck, and they all got out.

"This is well within the area above the vespene deposit," Casa said.

"Who the hell would dig a hole like this..?" Constance said as she approached the edge of the pit. "This goes into bedrock, it had to be somebody with tools."

Saraslha grabbed a fistful of unearthed sediment from the mound, and proceeded to smell it, then taste it, narrowing her eyes at what she sensed.

Branson's telepathic voice entered the minds of Saraslha and Constance. _"B… b-b-big…"_

"Mm?" Saraslha stood straight and looked toward the truck, on whose dashboard Branson sat. _"Get the words out, buddy. What do you want to say?"_

"Tell your kidney bean to stop bugging me with its messages, Saraslha," Constance snapped.

Branson continued. _"G-rrrrr-ound, vib-rrrrration, very big!" _It forced these words out.

Saraslha frowned, then stuffed her hand back in the sediment pile, taking a fresh sample to smell. Upon smelling it, her gut sank, and her eyes became wide with fear. "We have to get out of here, now."

"The hell for?" Constance said.

Saraslha was already running past them, toward Casa's truck. "It's probably still nearby. Move your asses!"

"Don't be vague, zerg-dog. What are you talking about?"

And then it became audible to all of them. The tremors that vibrated through the ground. The power of a mass which strode over the ground with an uncaring ease as it trampled, crushed and split the objects in its path.

Constance was paralyzed, standing still and stiffly as she peered into the tree line, the direction of the tremors. Casa's rifle was unslung and leveled in that direction. Saraslha had reached into the truck cab and recovered Branson.

It roared. A spine-rattling bellow that stood on par with church bells; the fog horns of nautical ships. And then the sound intensified, grew louder, stronger, with an organic vitality only possible for a life form.

The Ultralisk became visible as it toppled a pair of trees at the edge of the clearing as a side effect of its forward motion. It strode over the grass, coming toward the trio of 2 humans and 1 humanoid zerg at a steady, and alarmingly fast speed.

For a second, only a second, Saraslha's empathic link sensed the paralyzing fear felt by Casa and Constance.

* * *

**The Past**

"Why are some zerg stronger than others of the same strain?" Saraslha said this as she inspected a line of rare hunter-killer hydralisks, to the backdrop of the volcanic landscape of Char.

"_Because they have tasted battle over a thousand times, and lived." _Zagara said this as she ordered the hunter-killers to disperse and head to a hive cluster down the hill from the mountain-sized Central Hive. _"The Swarm can only replicate the immutable essence which a strain is born with. It cannot copy a mind, its psionic capacity, nor the spontaneous adaptions built by an organism in life; such traits must be created on an individual basis."_

"Like you, mother?" Saraslha said. "Didn't you begin life as a simpleminded queen who didn't know her ass from a volcanic vent?"

Zagara leered at Saraslha, her eyes narrowing. _"My past is irrelevant, daughter. What you should consider, using the advanced brain you were given every advantage in being born with, is that I rule the Swarm. This is because my power dwarfs that of any other denizen, including you."_

"Of course, mother," Saraslha said in a pleasant tone. "I was just teasing you."

Zagara walked back to the central hive, and Saraslha followed. Zagara spoke, _"on the thought of traits which are developed after birth, I wish to know your psionic development. How intimate is your connection to the Swarm, and do you sense greater power welling beneath your conscious thoughts?"_

"You ask me that all the time, mom. And my answer is the same: I can only control a few zerg at once, even if I have overlords facilitating the link."

"_You must train harder."_

"It just isn't my strong suit. I learn things easily, skills outside of psionics come quickly to me. With those options available, why should I struggle futily on something I'll never be good at?"

A pause in the conversation as Zagara thought and they walked together. _"…I have no answer to this, only that the psionic power of the Queen of Blades and myself are indispensable to a strong, unified swarm; a role you are expected to become capable of filling. If alternative abilities are where you believe you'll be of use, then I will observe as you test that claim."_

Saraslha hugged Zagara's upper body, smiling with release as they stopped walking. "Thank you, mother, for being so understanding."

Zagara was indifferent to this, her body producing no reaction other than to stop walking. _"Your fate is in your own hands, daughter. Should you fail consistently and miserably enough, your existence will end."_

Saraslha's smile vanished. Her embrace released as she stepped away, looking down with a new, fear-driven tension. "Are you saying you'd kill me?"

"_I will never kill you, so long as you do not contradict my will. The end to your existence of which I speak will occur naturally. All elements of the Swarm are subject to opposition and the prospect of death, elements which drive them to excel. You are no exception, daughter, nor am I."_

"I… see." Saraslha was still looking down, standing still.

Zagara walked away. _"I have absolute confidence in you, and your ability to be of use to the Swarm. You will not disappoint me." _Saraslha did not follow as the Overqueen vanished into the central hive.

"No…" Now alone, Saraslha's fist was clenched so hard that her arm rattled. Her voice was a venomous hiss, "I won't."

* * *

**The Past**

"Do you… kill people?"

When child Casa asked this question of her mother, the answer was a calm and matter-of-fact, "yes."

"How many?"

"A lot."

"And why?"

Casa's mother stopped to consider this for a moment. They were aboard a space ship, spending time together with a nearby star visible through a broad viewing port and illuminating the room. She was rolling a bullet along her knuckles while Casa sat on her lap. "It's something I have to do, in order to fulfill my purpose."

"Do you only kill bad people?"

"It doesn't matter if they're bad, only if it's necessary."

Casa looked up at her eyes from her lap. "Necessary for what?"

"My country."

"Why is it necessary for that?"

"That's for somebody else to decide."

"Is your country more important than people?"

"More than any one person."

Casa had one more question to ask: "Why do you do it?"

"Why?" Her mother seemed to be stuck on words, but then shed the lightest of smiles, "That's a very good question. Most of the time it's just part of the job. The job has always been a large part of my purpose. But sometimes my mind tells me to do things that aren't part of the job but still necessary. I wouldn't say 'good or bad', it's too complicated for you to know…" She pursed her lips on what to say next.

The little girl raised her brow, "If it's not 'good or bad', then what?"

"I don't think I can explain it to you now, but when you're older you'll know what you gotta do. I kill people even when emperors and armies won't do the job." Nova held her bullet in front for Casa to see, "Most people waste time arguing over how they should solve the world's problems. I don't waste time, I solve problems for them."

"Isn't that good or bad?"

The mother smirked and lightly flicked the girl's head with scolding affection, "More or less. I told you it's complicated."

Casa hummed her disapproval, "Sounds like babysitting. Doesn't it make you feel… tired?"

She could feel her mother shrug, "Well, someone's gotta do the right thing. Some people like me act just because we're the only ones with the brains and guts to do it. If we don't… everyone else is screwed."

Casa frowned at this, thinking as she looked ahead. "Then I have to learn what that is, so I don't have to care if people are good or bad—"

"No, Casa…" Her mother said.

Casa stopped speaking at this interruption.

"That's the path I've taken. It doesn't have to be the same for you."

Casa hopped off her other's lap, standing on her feet as she turned around to face her. "But I want to be like you."

The mother was taken off-guard by this. She clenched her teeth, searching for what to say. "…I'll… teach you, how to fight. Then, when you're old enough, it will be up to you to decide what to do with that knowledge."

* * *

**The Past**

"_You had the courage to come here?"_

A teenage Constance, endorned simple white disciple robes, tracked the female voice to giant doors that opened on their own, inviting her to enter the aesthetically dark chamber whose interior temperature was cold as the metal comprising it. Constance's eager training kept her resolute. "You were the whisper in my dreams. I sensed you here, on Aiur."

"_Good… You successfully reached my domain unmolested by the thousands of Tal'Darim that have reclaimed the ancestral birthworld of our people. It is bright; too shiny for my tastes, but we will make it our home."_

Constance traced the source of the voice to a giant, modified, black immortal walker lying inert atop a pedestal at the end of the chamber, illuminated only by purple flames and red crystal lights. "Is that you, inside the machine?"

She felt a sudden spike in psionic energy from the walker as it flashed to life. Powerful mechanical legs raised the warmachine to its towering height. Its face split open to reveal the pilot's aquatic chamber. Only a pale silhouette and a pair of white-red lights were visible through the thick liquid. _"You came here despite warnings from your guardians. Why did you disobey?"_

Constance took daring steps forward, "I recognized you from stories and memories which were not my own. I wanted to see if you were just like what my Uncle said, and if the tales were true."

The shadowy figure spoke, amused, _"It is pleasing to know my reputation is not confined to my race alone, nor that my little nephew has forgotten me. Tell me, little girl, who am I?"_

Constance spoke without hesitation, "You're Terana. The Seventh Ascendant who fought in the End War and killed thousands." She couldn't resist the tremble of trepidation that slowly worked on her nerves. "You're one of them."

"_Yes!... You are smart for your kind to show deference to the raw power and might that is The Forged. Here, I reign. Without Alarak to rival me, I am Highlord here."_

Constance felt some faint force pulling at her hair and the hem of her robe. Terana narrowed her eyes, _"Why has your uncle not sent you to me, and instead has you consorting with the Khalai?"_

"They all told me to stay away from the likes of your people and your violent, destructive ways. They forbade me."

"_How disappointing. But you still came. Did you think I would allow a Terran to leave the district unharmed?"_

Constance nodded, "When you spoke to me, you promised me a chance to learn how to master my psionic power and become the strongest warrior I can be. I worry that my uncle and Master Khalis' training won't be enough to make me as powerful as I had hoped."

The voice chuckled wickedly, _"The Khalai value their strength through unity, and your uncle is _afraid_ to teach you what true strength actually is. I am very disappointed in him."_

Constance took this chance to vent, "I could tell William became a rather pathetic and soft-hearted. He's become a civilian, completely unlike the badass destroyer I remembered."

The air pressure suddenly thickened, and Constance felt a sharp atavistic urge to run away from Terana's walker. _"He has violated a sacred tenant to our people. We are always warriors; weapons perpetually sharpened for battle. You are both doomed to perish in the next war."_

Constance planted her fist to her chest, "Then show me the path to power, Terana!" From an old memory, she reflexively brought her fist into her palm, hoping the show of respect would be recognized by the protoss. "I want to learn from you."

"_Such naivete."_

For a moment, she feared rejection. "What?"

A giant reflective sheet of metal was telekinetically thrown from the shadows to stand in front of Constance. _"Look into your reflection. If you are to be the last of my legacy, even as a feeble Terran, I wish to see your face."_

She stared at her clear visage, confused as to how this could help Terana see her face when the metal sheet is completely blocking her vision

Constance suddenly felt a presence probe her mind unexpectedly. She quickly threw up her mental shields, which were easily smashed aside as Terana picked at her brain. _"So that is what you look like. You are not ugly, for a primitive space primate."_ The metal mirror floated away. _"Psionics is not confined to our species. Strength is a universal virtue. You must be prepared to seek power, against the pain and struggle. I will forge you into the weapon that my nephew once was. You will become powerful."_

Constance smiled at this answer from Terana, "You won't be disappointed!"

"_Won't I? I have no tolerance for those who bluff their strength."_

"What are you talking about?" she said with a confused frown.

"_To survive, you must banish fear. Fear leads to inaction. It paralyzes the mind and disintegrates the will. The audacity to fight any enemy is the destiny of all who submit to the path of ascension."_

"I'm ready."

"_This is not a path for the feeble-hearted. You must be absolute in your conviction. There is no turning back."_

Constance allowed herself a smirk, irked with impatience towards Terana's lack of confidence, "I am a Templar, and I'm stronger than most other Terrans, so I'm pretty sure I've got the balls necessary."

"_Templar?... how _boring!"

Terana lowered one of her vanguard's arm-cannons, giving Constance a split second before a spray of super-heated shotgun pellets fired. Constance's enhanced reflexes quickly gave the mental command to raise a solid yellow plasma shield from a special belt. This shield wasconstructed with energy arranged like tough glass hexagons.

Constance not so subtly drank in her small victory, and took a chance she never got with strict Master Khalis. "Purifier-grade defensive barrier. Technology makes the protoss just as much as psionics, right?"

Terana cackled. Constance shivered at the sound of a witch's laugh. _"Absolutely adorable."_

Telekinetic force slowly lifted Constance off her feet, in sinful anticipation before repeatedly slamming the inside her plasma barrier against the ground, ragdolling her inside a hamster ball. Defiant, Constance withstood the attack, confident that the shield would hold.

The pounding stopped, leaving Constance inside the shield as it was held in the air. She felt the air pressure intensify even further and saw her shields begin to warp and twist, as if invisible, _powerful_ claws were tearing the reinforced plasma field apart until it totally collapsed.

The pressure then wrapped around her, and Constance was completely powerless as her portable shield belt unlatched itself and flew into Terana's outstretched, drenched arm, exposed from a new opening from her pilot chamber.

"_It is foolish to depend on the strength of others. Our strength is not defined by our comrades, nor the tools we use to hasten destruction. No, eventually they will all fail you. You must trust only in yourself, your force of will!"_

Red lightning leaped from Terana's black clawtips to strike Constance and send her flying back as a twitching mess. This no longer felt like a test or exchange of blows intended to teach her. Constance scrambled onto her feet and bolted for the exit.

"_To flee is an admission of weakness. There is only one reality."_

The great doors slammed in her face, and her face again was smacked when the psionic grip pulled her feet back to where she started.

"_Only power yields victory."_

Constance was forcibly spun around to face Terana.

"_Only strength can rule."_

As though being shown lenience, Constance suddenly regained control of her body as her feet touched the ground. She ignited her bane-blade gauntlet and lunged for Terana's feeble body within the vanguard chamber. Except the protoss wasn't as crippled as she seemed, for she rose out of the chamber opening, ignited a bane-blade past her fist without the aid of a gauntlet, and easily blocked Constance's attacking strike.

"_Only fools think otherwise."_

Terana grasped Constance in her invisible hold, twisting her painfully for one split second before slamming her back against the floor, ending the battle.

"_If you truly are the first of your kind to learn from our example, I will show you the _true_ power of the protoss!"_

Against the pain stringing her entire body, humiliation for her wounded pride, and disappointment, Constance managed an eager, hungry smile, with all its manic energy yearning to be released at last.

She painstakingly rose to her wobbly feet again, much to Terana's amusement.

"_You are sturdier than most on your level." Terana observed._

"The pain I feel..." Constance spoke through pained breaths, "is nothing compared to what I felt before." She stepped forward.

"_Perhaps you have a chance for a primitive. You must keep our affiliation secret."_

Constance nodded.

"_I sense a kindling flame in your spirit. There is a burden on that spirit, what your mind may call… a 'weight on your shoulders'. This can either hold you back, or make you stronger."_

"The burden you describe, are my feelings about the Zerg."

"_Describe them to me,"_ Terana ordered.

"Protoss heat can sear our flesh to ash." Constance fell to a knee, clutching a nasty burn on her arm. "But it is the Zerg who truly ruined us. They ruined us! Now they still live, gathering their strength for an inevitable war of hunger they'll never sate in the end." She heaved heavily, willing the stubborn pain to go away. "I now know, maybe all along, that it won't be a naive emperor's diplomacy or the threat of sleeping missiles that will save us… but _fire_. Fire that purifies the planets of wretched filth! Fire that utterly _destroys_ the Swarm with blade's heat and light from the sky! Show me the cleansing fire!"

"_Good… Good! Use your aggressive feelings, girl! Let the fury burn through you! Not to reactively defend, but to always attack to ensure you are dominant! Only then will you rise the chain of power in this world as a forged Tal'darim!"_

* * *

**The Present**

A bullet zipped through the air, piercing the Ultralisk's left eye. Saraslha saw this as she recovered Branson from the truck. The beast's head snapped toward the bullet's origin as it turned to approach Casa, who had fired the bullet.

Saraslha watched. The Ultralisk was feral, and upon re-awakening the hive mind synergy that denoted this insight, Saraslha sensed that there weren't any other zerg nearby.

The crack of lightning reverberated through the air. A cone of psionic energy bolts hit the Ultralisk in the back, visible for only a split second as they seared over its thick armor. This token wound did not veer its path as it continued toward Casa, who had turned to sprint in the opposite direction.

Saraslha observed this, still processing their situation. At its top speed, the Ultralisk was only a 40 minute walk away from the town of Durell. They had to kill it, but even if Casa could shoot its other eye, that soft surface did not present a path to any vital component of the creature.

Then a recollection from yesterday: Constance had a psi blade. _"…Alright." _Saraslha's skirt of webbed appendages shot out and stiffened as the thundering footsteps of the Ultralisk chased Casa into the tree line. Saraslha could sense her location and vitals through Branson's autonomous detection. Saraslha rose into the air as her webbed appendages flapped heavily. _"Constance, find a tree and get to a high position, I'll bring the ultra to you."_

No response. Another cone of energy bolts assaulted the oblivious Ultralisk's rear. _"Why don't you help out instead of telling me what—"_

"_Calm yourself," _Saraslha cut her off with an abnormally grim, low tone. _"Do you want to protect your town? Do you want the people there to not die?"_

"_No shit sherlock."_

"_Then follow my suggestion. On the ultralisk, there's a concentration of nerves under the back plating near the head. If you can stab it there, it'll be paralyzed for a solid minute." _Saraslha attached Branson to her back as she flew toward the Ultralisk, steadily catching up to it as it entered the treeline. _"And don't worry about Casa. She's a fast runner."_

This assurance was enough. She watched Constance head for the tree line in a different direction and jump onto the low hanging branches of a sizeable pine for a climbing head start. Her claw gauntlet dug into the bark while her three other limbs nimbly scaled the branches, which Saraslha surmised was evidence of Constance' life on Haven.

"So!" shouted Constance near the peak of the tree. She pointed with a claw, "Lure the ultralisk to me!"

"Yeah, that's the plan," droned Saraslha. Her attention returned to the ultralisk, but by that point it had already rampaged deep into the woods. "Oh crud!"

"Go stupid!" snarled Constance with a hint of urgency. "Don't make Casa run the whole time!"

Constance had barely uttered the sentence when Saraslha already sprinted forward for extra take off speed and flew to Casa. It was only then that she became aware of the speed shortcomings from the lower lift generated by her small skirt. Sure her small form was fast and agile, but it could be _faster_; enough to reach Casa ASAP.

She reached out, _"Casa. What's your status?"_

"_It's pissed about that eye. I'm trying to slow it down with the trees."_

Saraslha climbed altitude to find them again. Fortunately, they were still close. Saraslha could see the rustling of the tree line, disturbed alien birds, crashing wood, and the telltale tree collapsing in a predictable path.

She flew towards them, _"Bring the Ultralisk to us. I'll try to give you a break."_

"_That would be nice!"_

The zerg humanoid was unhindered by the snapping of branches and green needles as she broke through the tree line and into the shady forest undergrowth. Soon, Casa came running with the ultralisk in rampaging pursuit.

Saraslha was damn impressed that Casa managed to outpace the Ultralisk for so long. With her forest green cloak trailing behind, the blonde woman skillfully ran across the uneven downhill slope moss covered rocks and logs to daringly outpace the wave of splintered wood and biological rage as the Ultralisk smashed through the ancient trees virtually unabated.

The beast was having noticeable trouble maintaining its footing while charging downhill, as the mossy soil and dirt slid loosely under its sheer weight, sending boulders and rolling logs that Casa had to duck and dodge with nerve-wracking spatial awareness. Saraslha was worried the ultralisk might trip forward, and not even Casa might be able to dodge that.

Casa jumped down a small ledge and pressed her back behind it, cloaking with a device strapped to her back just as the ultralisk titanic form overshot her small form. It took a long, cumbersome moment for the giant to stop its forward downhill momentum after losing its target.

Its confusion was cut short when the much smaller zerg flew by and punched the ultralisk in the face. It hardly dented the ultralisk and threw Saraslha off-balance, and she quickly floated away from a retaliatory swipe.

"Boop! Try to catch me!"

Sensing a new target, and another zerg, the ultralisk gave chase with a mighty roar that spooked Branson. Saraslha ditched flight to run on her feet after mostly exhausting her microbial levitation. Thankfully her humanoid legs were still enhanced for running, and she managed to lead the ultralisk towards Constance's tree.

Constance made little attempt to mask her feelings for Saraslha to sense telepathically – anticipation, excitement, and adrenal glee. The dark-skinned woman's thrill reached its peak the split moment before she pounced onto the ultralisk's back and narrowly avoided being jostled off by barely managing to dig her claws into the super-tough carapace.

The giant paused a moment to register something atop its less defended backside. Constance took the chance to lunge towards the nerve bundle she sensed from natural psionics, arming her curved blade.

The beast suddenly reared onto its hind legs, nearly throwing Constance off had she not fallen flat on her stomach to grab on.

"Oh shit!"

Then it slammed down.

"FU-"

The wind was knocked out of Constance's belly when countless tons of Zerg muscle and berserk rage crashed and quaked the ground. The trees shuddered from the roots. Saraslha nearly fell onto her posterior.

* * *

"I'm going to ask that you repeat what you just told me," the Chief Councilwoman of the Haven Republic said as she held up a hand, "not slower, mind. I just want to hear it again."

Nova groaned at this, "there is a feral ultralisk in the area near Mount Alfhild." The Dominion Ghost had stormed unannounced into Tana Strommen's office, flatly announcing this.

"Where did you acquire this information?"

"From Agent Hai, over telepathy. She's there fighting it right now."

Strommen spread her hands, "Well what do you expect us to do about it? We're only a republic! Not a mighty martial autocracy like the Dominion."

Nova was wincing with disbelief, "are you kidding me? Do I have to tell you what will happen if that thing wanders into a populated area?"

"Yes, I am kidding you, Nova," Strommen's demeanor had sobered, then adopted a clinical, amused body language. "Hiccup's squad is already en route there. I got word of it from another agent about a minute before you stormed into my office."

"Honest to god…" Nova snarled this as she pinched her own forehead, "you think this is a game?"

"Nope," Strommen said.

"Your election might have a lot to do with who your uncle is, but you're still the figurehead of the Republic and should act like it."

"In public, sure, but you're not the public, Nova, and I don't have to be a stress case like you."

Nova leaned forward, wincing. "you can act like a professional."

The Councilwoman simply shrugged, "how is your interrogation of the Earthling coming along? Did you learn anything?"

"Their fleet is large enough to topple this remote planet in an afternoon, and it will arrive very soon."

"That's cheerful news," Strommen said this insincerely as she leaned back in her seat. "We won the End War all those years ago, and now there's going to be more fighting."

"The Earthlings' intentions are obvious, and the Dominion will be prepared for war, should diplomatic options fail."

"Also cheerful news," Strommen said detachedly, sarcastically. "I saw the amount of war material you guys cranked out in the End War. A fully mobilized Dominion is a scary Dominion."

"Haven should still be ready to catch hell."

"We're used to catching hell. The city of Fjellhavn is more well-fortified than ever, and we have enough ass space in our transport fleet to relocate the whole population."

Nova turned to leave. "If you'll excuse me, Chief Councilwoman. I believe our prisoner might have more to say."

"You're not going to take out the feral ultralisk?"

"I would," Nova headed through the door, "but that thing will be dead by the time I could arrive."

* * *

"_It's NOT dead yet!"_ hissed Constance mentally as she hung onto a rear leg for dear life as the ultralisk tried to buck her off.

"_I noticed!"_ shouted Saraslha, who tried to grab the ultralisk's attention to no avail.

"_It SHOULD be dead!"_

"_I'm trying to think of something. Just hang on."_

Another buck, and Constance's face inadvertently slammed into the carapace from the motion. She screamed out loud, "Fuck you!"

"_I hope you mean the ultralisk!"_

A bang from Saraslha's left flank almost made her jump out of her carapace. A shot zipped through the bickering and roaring to richochet off the ultralisk's face, dangerously close to its only good eye. It stopped bucking to glare at Casa standing decloaked next to Saraslha. She calmly pulled the rifle's bolt-action and raised it again. "Right here."

Saraslha sensed anger. The ultralisk roared its promise of vengeance and charged.

"Casa!" Saraslha pulled at her arm. "Get a move on!"

Casa made no move to run. She maintained her aim and fired, scoring a direct hit on the ultralisk's eye.

The ultralisk suddenly jerked violently and limply tripped, collapsing on the ground as its body plowed a mound of dirt ahead of it in its coast straight towards them. Saraslha took a few cautionary steps back, but Casa stood her ground, budging not an inch as the kill she apparently bagged slid to a complete stop, its dying head a foot from her rifle's smoking barrel.

Saraslha's genius brain struggled to make sense of the situation. There's was no way… "Did you-"

Constance stood upright atop the creature's back, her red psi blade still lit and emitting faint traces of disintegrated mass which it had only a second ago been immersed in. She had a dumbfounded look of awe on her face as she planted a boot on top of a lump in the carapace armor. "Holy shit… I freaking killed an ultralisk! I've always wanted to take one down! Did you see that?!"

Saraslha had never seen Constance look so… giddy and ecstatic. Most of that energy was directed to Casa, who responded with an obliging smirk, "I definitely saw."

Constance's eyes flicked to Saraslha. Her enthusiasm was tempered instantaneously with a straighter back and a modest attempt at a stoic face. "You see that?" She repeated with more restraint to Saraslha, looking down at her. "That's the result of years of training and discipline, things I'd be surprised your royal ass ever heard of."

"I'm glad you're impressed with my planning ability," Saraslha had a snide smirk. "Your execution was impressive as well."

Constance jumped off the paralyzed ultralisk's back, landing the long drop without any harm as she walked over to where its head lay. "Uh huh, be as condescending as you want, zerg-dog. I hope I see the day your lack of discipline bites you in the ass." Constance came to the ultralisk's head, and proceeded to drive her psi blade into it, patiently shearing off a hefty chunk of armor in the dig toward its brain. The creature was not dead yet, and if left alone it would recover.

"Meh, I'm a genius, the normal rules don't apply to me." Saraslha said this as she leaned back on the ultra's head, next to Constance's digging project. "Do you know what you're doing? The brain is pretty deep inside the head shell."

"How complicated does it have to be?" she snapped sardonically. "All psychics can sense brains. Besides, I know my way around the zerg anatomy, from big boys like this to bratty princesses like you."

Saraslha had no reaction. She stared ahead, arms crossed as she heard the idle sound of Constance digging through the skull. "You know, I think I've got you figured out."

"If you'll excuse me," Casa said as she slung her rifle and walked away. "I'm going to go and fetch my truck." Their conversation was suspended as they watched her leave.

Constance continued her digging, speaking to Saraslha. "Well go ahead, tell me about me, if you think you're so insightful."

Saraslha had a smirk she couldn't restrain, not facing Constance and their faces not visible to each other. "I'm not going to say."

"You've got nothing, then."

"You'll have to learn it for yourself, sorry to disappoint."

"And now you're not making any sense, zerg-dog. I think I know more about myself than anybody else."

"If that were true, you wouldn't be so messed up."

"Let's change the topic, I'm feeling cathartic after killing this beast. Why are you on our team?"

Saraslha turned her head to look at Constance, "You mean the Dominion?"

"Humans in general."

Saraslha looked ahead, processing this. "I need purpose. Without it I'm nothing."

It was several long seconds before Constance said something to this, "I guess… if you did anything other than join the Dominion, you'd have been hunted, by everybody."

"I could have lived in hiding, maybe even built up a really large army that included some original strains…" Saraslha stood straight, and turned around to face the paralyzed ultralisk. She felt its life force fade away as Constance's blade reached its brain. "But the idea of being alone scares me. I'd rather work for humans if it means I can form connections with others. On Char I never felt alone, and Korhal had a similar warmth."

Constance didn't turn to face her. She let her psi blade dissipate as she stared at the open hole she'd just burnt in the dead zerg's head. _"I can't relate to that." _She said telepathically. _"Looking down on people, not giving a damn whether they stick around or not is too damn safe not to do. It keeps you from being hurt."_

"_You'll work though that with time, and decide whether it's worth keeping. That said, it's not my business." _Saraslha said this as she came closer to Constance, causing her to turn in reaction. _"I want you to join me."_

"Excuse me?"

"War is coming, and we're both going to be fighting. I want you in my unit."

"Even if that was up to you, -which it isn't,- what makes you think I'd ever join an outfit where I take orders from you?"

"If not me, then it'll be some stuffy Republic or Dominion operations master who'll just assume you're another Ghost, because all it'll say on your dossier is 'psionic operative.'"

Frowning at Saraslha, Constance's mouth opened instinctively to rebut, but it froze. "That…"

"You have some time," Saraslha said as she moved a hand to pat Constance on the shoulder, "let me know what you decide-"

Constance dodged Saraslha's shoulder pat as though it was a violent strike. Her psi blade re-ignited as she aimed it threateningly at the humanoid zerg. "Don't ever touch me, Zerg-dog."

Saraslha's hand calmly retracted, and she smirked with amusement as the glow of the very near psi blade tinted her face red. "Oh, you're gonna be a blast to work with. I'm already getting ideas on how to make use of you."

Constance's blade doused, and she walked away, heading downhill to the sound of Casa's approaching truck, "arrogant, aren't you? I haven't said 'yes.'"

Saraslha followed, still smirking. "If it was gonna be 'no,' you'd have said it already."

"You think you're so good at reading people," the dark-skinned human's head shook. "My assignment isn't up to you anyway."

"Don't worry about that, I have some ideas."

Now Constance was wincing with annoyance, "ideas for _what?_"

"For convincing Command to assign you to me."

"Just who the hell do you think you—"

"I just have to leverage my strategic value to them, without any overt insubordination. What's one psi operative compared to their very own autonomous zerg army? It just needs to be framed as a choice between varying benefits."

The annoyed wince disappeared from Constance's face, "listen… the idea of saying… anything nice about you makes me sick to my core, but if you could pull something like that off…"

Still smirking and relaxed as they walked, Saraslha made eye contact, "I know, I'm awesome. You don't have to say it."

As they approached Casa and the truck in a small clearing, the noise of a Viking engine reverberated past them. There was only one, and it flew just above the tree line before lowering into the clearing and transforming to land on its feet.

It bore the paint and regalia of the Haven Republic, and as Saraslha and Constance entered the clearing and approached it, the Viking's cockpit opened and its pilot stood on his feet as he raised his helmet visor. "Identify yourselves!" He said to the trio below him on the ground.

"Agent Constance Hai of Republic Special Forces." Constance shouted up to him.

"Casa Ashton, civilian." Casa said.

"And I'm Asset Fifteen. Your corps should be aware of my existence." Saraslha said.

A squad of Vikings passed over the clearing at cruising speed, moving over them to an indistinct destination. "You," the pilot pointed to Constance. "You're the one who reported the big damn feral zerg in the area. Where is it?"

"It's dead—"

"Dead!" The pilot repeated back in a disbelieving tone.

"Yes, the body is just in those woods."

"Roger that," the pilot said. "Agent Hai, you and these other two are to report to headquarters for debriefing. Understood?"

"You got it, Captain Hiccup," Constance gave a halfhearted salute.

With this the Pilot lowered his visor and sat back into his cockpit.

When the Viking took off Saraslha spoke, "you know that fellow?"

"Hiccup?" Constance said, "yeah, he's a good guy. Recently had a breakup with some… redheaded bimbo. I don't know what he saw in her."

"He said to debrief at headquarters. Do you know where that is?"

"It's in Fjellhavn," Casa said as she opened the driver's door of her truck. "The city in the mountains where you originally landed."

"I call shotgun," Saraslha said as she stretched her arms behind her back, then moved them forward as she came to the passenger's side. "I've been in direct sunlight a few minutes too long, and my plant roots are acting up."

* * *

**Augustgrad Palace, Korhal**

Emperor Valerian Mengsk was in conference with his Defense Secretary, generals and admirals. Everybody was seated except General Rhackam, a man in his late thirties who narrated over a 3-dimensional map of the planet Canton; a fringe world that had accepted Dominion sovereignty in exchange for protection during the End War, "Dominion Ninth Army groups one, three and six have landed on the rebel-compromised world without incident." Three large areas of the planet were highlighted red. These red blobs spread out into region-sized battle lines, "…and made steady progress, plowing through token resistance as the main body of insurrectionist forces have pulled back behind the Ulanbaar mountain range and fortified strategic locations in the territory they still hold, including the major starport of New Busan."

General Rhakam sat down, and Admiral Matthew Horner stood on his feet, "Once the anti-orbital emplacements in New Wuhan, and around New Busan are neutralized, the Eighty First Strategic Aerospace Flotilla will enter low orbit, supporting our forces on the ground with CAS squadrons and bombarding Rebel supply and munitions bunkers. The fighting on Canton is estimated to continue for another forty days, after which we will have secured the unconditional surrender of the rebel forces."

"Very well," the Emperor nodded. "On to the next topic, the Earth fleet that was spotted in the Rondo System."

The hologram of the planet Canton switched to a blurry photograph of a collection of human spacecraft, then another photo in sequence taken at a different instance. "I won't mince words, gentlemen." Admiral Horner said. "This is the largest human fleet I've ever seen. These photographs were taken from extreme distance by remote sentries, shortly before they were destroyed."

One photograph was zoomed further in, focusing on the vague shape of one ship whose size dwarfed the rest. "Corroboration of the different photographs confirm the existence of at least three of these vessels, and their size is calculated to be three and a half kilometers in length, with forty five times the mass of a Gorgon-class battlecruiser. Their armament, armor thickness and operational capacities remain unknown." Upon completing this report, Admiral Horner sat.

The Emperor stood. "I want one hundred percent battle readiness on the garrisons and defensive infrastructure of all core worlds and industrial centers, priority one is to ensure our worlds are prepared for attack, and priority two is to ascertain the Directorate fleet's objectives. Horner, you have the Core Fleet."

Admiral Horner nodded at this.

"I want plans and infrastructure in place to activate full-scale mobilization and deployment on any world within our borders. You all have your tasks. Dismissed."

"Lord Mengsk, I have a request." General Rhakam remained in place as the other people were leaving.

"What is it, General?" The Emperor said.

"Give me leave to organize militia armies on the fringe worlds. That's where I believe I can be of the most service to the Dominion."

Valerian replied to this calmly and succinctly, "While it's true that your meritous leadership and tactical direction of militia armies during the End War is what led to your promotion, General Rhackam, you now have a new role with its own duties, and must adapt. Your command is the Ninth Army."

"I understand, Lord Mengsk, and my junior officer, Vice General Grant has been directing the Ninth in step with me, and can take up my duties effective immediately."

Valerian frowned with thought at this. The request made sense, but it was weighted against his decision to assign Rhackam the 9th Army being counteracted.

"If I may interject," Admiral Horner said.

"Speak freely, Admiral," the Emperor said.

"A sizable majority of fringe world citizens have retained the arms and munitions distributed to them during the End War. This is a strong buffer against foreign encroachment, which Rhackam's leadership would magnify."

Valerian was silent, his eyes shut thinking. After these long seconds, his eyes opened, "I will consider your request, General Rackham. Dismissed."

Rackham saluted, then turned and left.

Valerian and Horner were left alone in the conference hall. The Admiral flipped through the grainy photos of the foreign Terran fleet. "Do you think… we're in over our heads?"

"You'll have to clarify."

"I'm not even thirty years old, yet I give orders to men almost twice my age on a regular basis."

The Emperor stood, and paced away from the table, his hands clasped behind his back. "Your achievements more than qualify your rank, Admiral Horner."

"In the End War it was victory or extinction. All I thought about was keeping the Fleet in one piece to fight another day. But this…"

"We're fighting other humans. It's not a war of extermination…" Staring ahead to the distant, gleaming metallic wall of the conference hall, the Emperor's brow was pulled to a concentrated furrow. "I will protect the sovereignty and independence of the Dominion, be it against alien forces or other men."

"I'm of similar mind…" Horner was still leaning over the table. He switched the hologram to the star map, with a large spread of Dominion-controlled star systems colored red. "The Dominion became my country when I was sworn into the Armed Forces. I… we, all of us down to the rank and file of our soldiers to the fringe world farmer have placed too much into this nation to just hand it over to the Earth Directorate."

The Emperor's brow relaxed, "That's good speech material, Admiral."

"You're relatively young as well, Emperor," Horner said. "Does it ever make you… doubt?"

"It made me insecure, once upon a time. That was a lesser me, among a long chain of lesser 'me's through the past."

"You've wanted to be a better person for a long time."

"With my father, being better meant being smarter, more calculating, more ambitious. Then, after the… war, between him and Kerrigan re-ignited, and came to a head, a new wave of shortcomings became apparent to me. I lacked… conviction."

"And that does the calculating emperor with conviction say about this invasion from Earth?"

"That we've defended our worlds from the zerg, the protoss, our own kind and the machinations of an alien god. And now that it's worth something the Directorate wants it."

The Admiral shut off the projector and stood straight. "The Earth Directorate is an oppressive regime where the speech and human rights of its citizens are suppressed in order to keep the legitimacy of their government unquestioned. Even the cultures and languages of its subject nations on Earth are crushed under legal restrictions…" Horner turned to Mengsk, "not like you, my friend. Most news stories I read about you contain scathing criticism."

"Indeed, remind me again that your approval rating is higher than mine."

"Only because I don't decide policy."

"Don't you have a war to plan, Mister Horner?"

"Indeed."

"It's too early to know, but what do you think will be their first target?"

Horner turned the projector back on, and ran the star map. "The scale and mobility of warfare has changed drastically since the Brood War. Attacking Korhal, or any core world without sufficient intel would be a bad idea for them. Their first objective will be to secure a foothold on the fringes."

"And what planet, specifically, do you speculate they'll focus on?"

"Either Canton," Horner highlighted it on the map, "the planet we're currently suppressing a rebellion on. They accepted our sovereignty as a survival measure during the End War, but their strong sentiment against us could lead them to support the Directorate." Next he highlighted a planet a long distance from the cluster of red-tinted star systems denoting Dominion control. "The next likely target is the Haven Republic, due to its distance and the delayed response time of a reinforcing fleet."

"Haven is only a few medium-range jumps from the nearest Daelaam colony. Artanis won't like us having a war on his doorstep."

Horner had a brief huff of laughter at this. "What is the Hierarch's stance on the UED?"

"I haven't heard from him, but unless the zerg get involved he's going to remain neutral. His people will want to avoid involvement with Terran affairs whenever possible."

* * *

A star map was displayed in a large chamber aboard the Superbattlecruiser Durendal. Displayed on the map was the collection of star systems referred to as the Koprulu Sector. Worlds under Dominion control were colored red, in a tight cluster that snaked out in some areas. A collection of fewer worlds south and downward from the Dominion were colored purple, indicating control by Zagara's Swarm. The blue Kel-Morian Combine was an even smaller cluster northeast and upward from the Dominion cluster, while the Umojan Protectorate's worlds formed an upright crescent in the northwest of the Dominion core. Much farther to the west of this collection of worlds was the green-colored territory of the Daelaam Protectorate.

Seated around this large star map was 6 people whose uniform and regalia denoted them as generals and admirals. Field Marshal Fredrick Carolius was on his feet, speaking in a smooth, high-pitched tone. "Gentlemen, we're gathered here to review the latest data on the Koprulu Sector's military strength, now corroborated by the scouting probes sent ahead of our main fleet." The elderly man picked up a remote, and focused the star map on the red cluster. "We'll start with the strongest dissident human nation, the Terran Dominion. Now these folks have been around since before the Brood War, holdin' out against two alien races and internal rebellions. They're a martial empire with a monarch and all those bells and whistles—yes, you have something to say, General Andes?"

Andes, a bald, muscular man stood on his feet, "we beat these colonials once, how hard can it be to do it again?"

"However hard you might consider it to make lightning strike twice, Mister Andes," Carolius said, "DuGalle's campaign against the Dominion went phenomenally well, a lot of chance advantages lined up for him and he took good advantage, we…" His head shook lightly, "we're not gonna be countin' on miracles from the past, that's a fool's gambit."

Marshal Carolius continued, flipping the projector to sky footage of a live battle against the Zerg Swarm, taken during the Second Great War. "As you can see here, they've gotten a lot more mobile and well-coordinated since the brood war, and their doctrine places a strong emphasis on superior firepower. You can see this nest of mobile artillery, all itchin' to pound the zerg column being led into its killzone by this broken militia line here— this..." He started nodding as his voice became a bit softer. "Whoever set that formation up, he knew what he was doin'."

He flipped back to the star map. "It was a damn close war, but the Dominion lost to the zerg and Emperor Arcturus Mengsk was killed. The current Emperor is his son, Valerian Mengsk, a delusional young man who fancies himself something better than a tin pot tyrant." This remark got a low boil of laughter from the room.

"Now, Admiral Argus, Admiral Li, listen close." Fredrick said this as he shifted the map to the Daelaam-controlled stars. "The Protoss call their navy the Golden Armada, and it is the single greatest military threat in the whole damn sector." His demeanor became energetic; engaged, "I don't want to see any fleets engagin' with it, I don't want to see you pokin' at it. If it comes after you, your standing order is to escape the engagement by whatever means necessary. We're not gonna defeat these xenos by playin' in their field by their rules."

Nobody in the room replied to this. They remained at attention and listening to the briefing. "Now, movin' on…" The Marshal switched to the oval-shaped collection of zerg-controlled worlds a relatively small distance from the Dominion. He released an exhale, becoming subdued. "The Zerg Swarm's going be the biggest crapshoot of this war. There's plans in place that none of you here have clearance to know, and I'm just going to have to ask you all to have faith in the Directorate."

He next switched to a specific Dominion world on the fringes of its territory. "Now, here are the plans I want drawn up: General Xing Jian, you've got Canton on the ground. Admiral Boris Argus, you've got air and orbit. You're both dismissed."

Both men stood from their seats, saluted, and left without a word.

"Andes Jackson, your boys have garrison duty. You're to ensure that our military foothold is secure, and that the construction of the Viridium Assembly Plant goes uninterrupted. Dismissed."

General Andes stood, saluted and left.

"Next world we need to be ready to hit…" The map shifted to a red system, near a backdrop of green Daelaam systems. "The Haven Republic."

* * *

Nova Terra was heading out from the underground holding cells connected to the city's central Hall of Governance. Constance Hai was communicating with her over telepathy, _"And so with a touch of assistance from Casa and the Zerg-dog, I killed the feral ultralisk. We have no idea where it came from or whether there are more out there, and presently we're headed to Fjellhavn to be debriefed."_

"_Roger that, Agent Hai." _Nova replied, _"The Chief Councilwoman has ordered militia checkpoints be placed at the roads and trails leading to Mount Alfhild, all nearby towns put on high alert with their minutemen on standby, and that Viking patrols comb the surrounding area. If there are more ferals on Haven, the Republic will deal with them." _As Nova walked, she sensed Constance getting closer. She and the other two were well within the city and approaching the Hall of Governance.

"_That's good to know. How's your interrogation coming along?"_

"_He's still withholding information, and will require more probing."_

"_Maybe you could ask my uncle to help? He's not much of a mind-reader, but damn if he knows how to give someone pain without killing—"_

"_No." _Nova collected her thoughts after this deadpan response. _"I'd rather your uncle not taste his old habits." _As she spoke, Nova went through a powered door leading out of the rough concrete corridor, and into a broad, sunlit hall with an arched ceiling and an abundance of human foot traffic. As she walked, she felt the presence of Constance's mind disappear.

As Nova headed to the star port, the minutes ticking by, Constance's mind became visible again, inside the same building. _"What happened, Agent Hai? Why did you vanish?"_

No answer. Constance was coming closer, rounding a corner and shifting through the human foot traffic.

Nova's thoroughly ingrained paranoia told her to move away, and she listened, making a 180 degree turn and moving briskly through the hall, just slow enough not to create a scene. "_Answer me, Hai." _Nova activated her cloaking, drawing a number of eyeballs as the light-bending energy field enveloped her entire body, rendering her invisible.

Constance was getting closer.

She was right behind Nova.

Nova drew her monomolecular blade, making a sweeping slash behind herself in tandem with her change in facing. It appeared to cut through air, but for the tip of the blade finding something solid, drawing a shallow scratch along the torso of somebody who'd backstepped.

It was a Ghost. Nova dove to the side and rolled as the earsplitting crack of gun discharges went off. The bullets flew past the space Nova had occupied. A pedestrian was hit, two other bullets buried into the smoothed stone wall ahead. The sound of gunfire caused a panic as people in the hall began to run and disperse.

The scratch from Nova's blade had created a compromise in the Ghost's cloaking for a split second before the field adjusted and concealed the wound. As Nova shot back to her feet, she lowered her visor. Its environmental analysis system would give her a good general idea of where the Ghost moved; but the same would be true for him.

As he became visible to Nova, his pistol was leveled straight at her, and it fired multiple rapid shots.

The bullets were stopped in midair as Nova instinctually raised her free hand, dampening the kinetic force of the small slugs and causing them to drop harmlessly to the floor.

There was no time to unsling her rifle as Nova charged the Ghost, making an aggressive swipe with her blade as he backstepped to evade the unblockable sword. It was a man for sure, with a form-fitting environment suit and mask over his mouth and nose, but nothing concealing his eyes. He was about equal to Nova in height.

And to Nova's mind, he still felt like Constance. Impersonating the psionic presence of somebody else was not a skill she'd ever heard about or anticipated, but it was far from a perfect form of stealth.

Nova's next swipe was horizontal, and as the Ghost moved to evade she gripped his pistol with her telekinesis and ripped it out of his hand, sending it flying across the hall, which was quickly becoming clear of people.

With this, the Ghost turned and sprinted in the opposite direction.

Nova unslung her rifle, lifted it, and aimed. Did she want to take this one alive if possible..? Yes.

He was nearing an intersection, running far beyond the capability of a regular human.

Nova patiently, coldly aimed below his center of mass.

He stopped, and wheeled around.

Nova's rifle discharged.

The heavy slug was caught in the Ghost's hands, his own telekinesis; a rare capability of human psychics, dampening its momentum during approach. The slug nonetheless moved him along the floor, sliding his boots along as he was pushed back. Once it came to a stop, he dropped the slug from his now-scorched hands.

This was impossible… this was bullshit! That shot should have been a crippling wound that'd leave him paralyzed on the floor. In this split second as Nova's rifle leveled again from the recoil of the shot, the Ghost made it to the intersection and rounded the corner.

* * *

Constance banged the roof of the truck cab as they drove along the street, entering a parking space near the Hall of Governance. "FUCK!"

Saraslha turned from in the passenger seat, looking up at her through the window, "What the hell, Constance?"

The dark-skinned human continued peering ahead, "is that… a hostile psychic? Is that… ME? Is that me stronger than me? I'LL FUCKING KILL ME." She jumped out of the truck bucket and sprinted toward the doors.

"Hey, wait up!" Saraslha opened the door of the only-just stopping truck and jumped out, following Constance. "Tell me what you're sensing."

Casa was unaffected as she came into the parking space, killed the engine, left the truck in gear and hopped out, grabbing her rifle and sprinting after the other two.

* * *

When the Hostile Ghost rounded the corner and escaped Nova's line of sight, a cone of red energy bolts shot through the intersecting corridor, sending an earsplitting sound of thunder across the stone walls of the spacious hall.

The real Constance was here. Nova ran after the Ghost, still sensing his façade of appearing as Constance. Before reaching the intersection, she veered to the side and moved through a side door, sprinting through a much smaller room to the next door. _"Agent Hai, keep pursuing the Ghost. I'm going to cut him off."_

"_Roger that. You want him alive?"_

"_If it's reasonably practical." _Nova vaulted over a dining room table before reaching the next door.

* * *

Inside the small security surveillance room of the hall of Governance, the two men on duty were treated to an uninvited guest.

"Hold up!" Saraslha said, her hands raised to them as they drew their sidearms. "I'm Saraslha, a Dominion asset. I need to use the equipment in this room."

"We know about you," one of the nervous guards said, his gun leveled. "don't know what you're doing up here though."

"There's an emergency, and I need to get into contact with some people. Do you guys know what's going on?"

The first guard peered over at the second, who just shook his head.

"Well I do. There's a hit squad roaming about the Government Hall, and the lives of the Council are in danger. All I ask is that you allow me to use your closed radio band."

"Uh huh, sure, and I'm a unicorn," the guard said, not lowering his weapon. "Now this is a restricted area, and if you don't leave by the time I count to—"

"When a sizable number of council members are assassinated, and I'm reporting this event to my superiors, I'll be forced to tell them that you and your partner would not cooperate, and I was therefore unable to relay vital information in time."

The guard's gut visibly sank at this; a real, tangible threat to his job and career prospects. "Look, I…"

"I'll tell them you were cordial, if you let me use your radio band."

A sharp inhale, and meeting the gaze of the other guard showed he had the same feeling. "…fine." He lowered his weapon.

Saraslha walked past them, pointing to a floor map displayed on the center screen. "Is this the Government Hall?"

"Yes. Who do you need to contact?"

"Every single security guard in the lower level."

The guard's discomfort came back with a vengeance, "why?"

"The normal line of communications have been cut, and I need to relay their orders. Time is of the essence."

The Guard turned to a terminal, and set up a two-way link. "And… done, you're live on the radio band."

Saraslha grabbed the microphone. "This is Lieutenant Drew Johnson of the Republican Militia. The normal line of communication has been severed, and I've been tasked with relaying your orders..."

* * *

Theodore Buntz, the random bystander who'd been hit by the Ghost's stray bullet, wondered whether it could end like this. The bullet had hit him in the stomach, leaving him lain on the floor in intense pain as the rest of the civilians dispersed and ran. The two operatives he saw were too engaged in their fight to pay him any mind, and had moved on.

A puddle of blood had formed around him, and the pain came repeatedly in waves, causing him to whine involuntarily. His vision alternated between coming in and blearing back out.

A skinny young woman with short blonde hair had appeared over him, and lowered into a crouch. "You look rather beat up, friend." He heard this stranger say. "Hold still, I was on a hazardous expedition today, and brought an anesthetic…"

He felt a needle go into his arm, and then the pain, along with his consciousness, wash away.

When he regained some of his consciousness, he saw the young woman rise back to her feet, her hands covered in blood. "There," she said in a voice that was barely legible to him in his anesthetized state. "That should buy you some hours, long enough to reach a proper doctor. I have to go now."

The last thing he saw before fainting completely was the stranger turning and running away in a hurry, with a rifle cradled in her arms.

* * *

Pyke, the Ghost that had infiltrated the Hall of Governance and evaded Nova had charged through a wooden door to a vacant conference room, dropping a grenade which released anti-detection gases throughout the relatively smaller space.

Nova kicked through a different door to the room, her rifle already leveled to shoot him.

He'd been against the wall next to the door, proceeding to rush her down from the side as he swiped with his alloy blade, forcing Nova to parry with the stock of her rifle.

Nova didn't feel, she didn't hesitate, nor give any mind to the situation being a suboptimal close-quarters engagement. The enemy was in hand to hand range, and that made her rifle a quarterstaff. After parrying the slash, she raised the barrel end to bring it down on his neck, assisting this strike with telekinesis.

He took this blow, only reacting in the form of the involuntary shift it imposed on his posture. This blow which would have paralyzed an ordinary person produced no reaction. She saw his eyes through the constant data feed her visor presented on his cloaked figure. They weren't sharp and focused like hers, nor dead and emotionless like a brain-panned human…

They were relaxed. Viewing the outside world as though it was a serene, beautiful sight. Another blade became visible in his other hand. It came upward through her rifle, slicing off most of its barrel and the front piece of its scope.

Nova quickly backstepped, abandoning her ruined rifle and lowering her profile as she adopted a defensive stance with her monomolecular blade, flipping it to an underhand grip.

The Ghost didn't pursue, or continue taking the offensive. He simply backstepped as the smoke from his grenade permeated the room. Nova's visor readings became blurred, and then the device lost his profile.

"_Nova, is the target near you?" _The telepathic voice was Saraslha's.

She charged into the smoke, knowing it impaired his vision just as much as hers. _"Yes, very near."_

"_Okay, passages E four on Basement two and R fifteen on basement one will be sealed off. E six on Basement two doesn't have a blast door, but I'll have the security guards shoot blindly down its length, making it impassable for our friend."_

Dammit! _"He's headed for the holding cells, Saraslha. Our prisoner is his primary target."_

"_Got it, I'm sending a squad there now."_

"_No, call them off. They'll just die." _Nova emerged into a smaller corridor. She veered right and continued sprinting as her visor resumed its scan of the environment. _"Constance and I are the only people in this building who can handle this guy."_

* * *

Constance didn't have a high-tech visor, but the ability to enhance her periphery senses was an adequate stand-in. The Target was invisible, but the impact of his feet on the floor as his body rushed through and agitated the air around him beat like a crystal clear drum on her ears, and the small amount of blood that had been drawn from the scratch on his torso left a trail of odor.

She'd taken a perpendicular cutoff route from Nova, and heard him come into a corridor where she awaited. "_I'm impressed, fool." _She said telepathically, revealing her presence as he turned to face her. He'd blocked her psi lightning, but he was still a human, with human weaknesses. Constance's mind homed in on his, and then imposed itself, snaking its presence inside his and unleashing a torrent of unwelcome input.

His hand raised, and Constance's next breath was stopped completely. She grasped her neck, feeling an invisible force wrap around and constrict it. She pushed back against this force, but that required abandoning her attempt at a mind blast. Using psionics while her brain became deprived of oxygen caused a wave of pain to wash over it, like a joint becoming sprained under too much load. Constance was on her knees as she gasped for air and dampened the foreign telekinetic force that was strangling her. _Not good… not good… _while she was performing damage control on herself, the target was free to do as he pleased.

He came closer to finish her off.

Constance was ready to ignite her psi blade and go at him with everything despite her disorientation.

But he stopped. He was just behind an intersection with another corridor. Although his blade was drawn, he didn't cross this line, but rather turned and continued his flight.

Constance climbed back on her feet. "Where are you going? I'm not done with you, you son of a bitch!" Her head throbbed, and the last thing she needed was to have to use her psionics right now, but seeing him get away was still infuriating. "I fucking hate chases."

Casa came into view from the intersecting corridor, her rifle held ready to fire and a set of spec ops goggles on her eyes as she pivoted the corner and aimed along the path the Target had fled. Once she was sure he was gone she turned to Constance. "Are you alright?"

Constance had sunk to her knees, gripping her head. "No, I'm not. That piece of shit got away."

"So did you." Casa said coldly, "you keep making mistakes like that, and your uncle will have to pick out your gravestone. Did you not realize he was telekinetic?"

An exhasperated exhale, "no, I didn't. It's not… hardly any humans have it." She saw Casa offering a hand, and took it.

"Stiff upper lip, Hai," Casa said as she pulled her to her feet. "It's up to November and Saraslha now."

* * *

Nova reached the Ghost in the holding cells. He was standing in front of the cage containing the imprisoned spy from Earth.

And she was too late. The Prisoner's life force had been strangled from him by the Ghost's telekinesis. Death by asphyxiation.

She knew better than to attack the mind of an operative who had telekinesis, being capable of it herself and catching other psychics off-guard with it. Nova brandished a knife and threw it at high velocity as she quickly closed the distance.

His hand lifted near his head to block the thrown knife, which easily pierced his glove as the top third of its blade emerged from his scorched palm. His first motion was to run, but Nova had gotten too close, too quickly.

Her monomolecular blade sliced through the alloy blade he'd moved to parry, forcing him back further into a stumble. Nova seized on this, planting a new foot forward to make a full-body lunge into his center of mass. His other blade, gripped in his stabbed, bloodied hand came around to bat the flat of Nova's blade, sending it off its path and causing it to miss his body.

The knife fight continued as Nova made a fresh sequence of expert slashes that forced the Ghost further back. Her visor continued verifying his cloaked profile, creating a more vivid image the longer he remained in its sight. She saw his eyes again.

They were still relaxed.

At this point, she didn't care if she killed him. Depriving him from whatever enemy sent him would be more than enough of an accomplishment. She continued her assault, making simple swipes of her blade that forced him to shift his entire body as he backstepped. At the rate they were going he would tire out before she did.

The bars of a cage door swung in front of her on its hinges, having been gripped and thrown by the Target. Nova raised an arm to block as the heavy metal set of bars slammed into her, causing her to stumble backward.

The Target took this chance and ran.

"No!" She slammed the empty cell door shut and gave chase. Another smoke bomb went off, blurring the Target's profile. She ran through it, but then came to a T-shaped intersection. It would take time for her visor to scan either side, and by then the target will have rounded another corner.

"_Nova," _Saraslha said over telepathy. _"Go left, he's headed for the floor zero terrace."_

Nova took this suggestion and headed left. _"How do you know this?"_

"_I'm looking over the floor maps. It was his most likely infiltration point, so that's where he'll also escape. Based on his objective being at the holding cells, and having taken a detour from his path to attempt to assassinate you in your first sighting of him, he most likely came from the east corridor of Floor Zero, where there's a row of terraces."_

"_Got it," _Nova said. _"What's security doing?"_

"_Their priority one is to protect the Council members. I can't give orders to those in the upper levels. Thirty guards from the lower level are on en route to the terraces."_

"_Humor my curiosity a bit—" _Nova said as she rounded another corner and continued her sprint, _"who exactly gave you the authority to direct the security forces?"_

"_Nobody did. But a half-truth here, a fake name there, a severed telecommunications line on my way up to the surveillance room, and I've got myself a small army."_

"_I've half a mind to report it to Admiral Horner."_

"_Good, you can tell him how I made the most of an emergency situation and did everything in my power to hinder and apprehend the enemy agent."_

"_That you entered a restricted area, sabotaged a communications array, lied to military personnel and impersonated an officer."_

A pause, _"…I like my version better."_

"_Of course you do, because it puts you in a positive light."_

"_I'm I gonna be put in front of a firing squad?"_

"_Nah… more like chewed out—I've been chewed out before, it's not the end of the world." _Nova reached a service stairway in her race to floor zero. She hopped atop the metallic railing of the coiling staircase and leaped to the flight above and across from it. She then climbed atop this railing and made another leap to the next opposite stairway up.

* * *

**Universal News Network: Live broadcast**

"A wide area broadcast to all Dominion worlds has been sent via a network of communications relays that had just appeared in every star system. We have confirmation that this message, and the relays come from the United Earth Directorate, the government which rules over our distant homeworld, and whose latest expedition to the Koprulu Sector has had sightings reported by a number of individuals throughout the periphery. The message has repeated itself in a loop, and is the following:"

_My fellow Terrans. I am Field Marshal Fredrick Carolius of the United Earth Armada. And I address you in order to make crystal clear our intentions:_

_The exclusive purpose of our Armada in the Koprulu Sector is to destroy once and for all the Zerg menace, which if left unchallenged threatens all life in the Galaxy, including the Earth. All we ask of your Emperor is that he not take any steps to obstruct our efforts, though if he wishes to aid us in this noble cause, that aid is welcome._

_I'm aware of, and understand your nation's hostile history with the Directorate, but times change, leaders change and ideas change. Our agenda has changed. A unified human front against any alien menace is the best possible way forward for our nations, and it is my hope that, in the near future your Emperor will sit with us at the table of peace to have that conversation._

_This is Field Marshal Carolius, signing off._

* * *

Nova reached the east terraces on Floor 0, and there she finally, once again caught sight of the enemy Ghost. He had donned a metallic harness with an adornment of small microfusion thrusters.

Nova didn't see any security guards; she was well ahead of them. She ran at full speed, exhausted but still battle-ready. If only she had a gun other than her rifle. If only the Target wasn't a teek, and she could have a mental war with him more liberally. If only he wasn't wearing that crazy jetpack thing—the Target, evidently exhausted, looked away from Nova and to his side.

The crack of a rifle discharging its shot, then a second. The Target had raised his wounded hand instinctively, Nova's knife still impaled on it but well inside the field of his cloaking. Two bullets had slowed to a stop next to him. A third shot went off as a third bullet was cushioned and allowed to drop to the floor.

And then the microfusion thrusters on the Target's metal harness went off, propelling him into the air.

Nova reached the terrace, staring upward as her mark was propelled to the sky with the speed of a rocket. She heard the footsteps of a squad of security guards, having finally reached the location. They saw her decloaking, and came out to the terrace as well.

"Did you locate the intruder, Ma'am?" One of them said.

Nova grabbed the handgun off one of their belts and aimed it upward, taking shots at the rapidly shrinking form of the Ghost who got away. Even if her shots were accurate, the small bullets didn't have nearly enough velocity to reach the Target's altitude. "Dammit!" She shouted, but then immediately sucked it in, and composed herself. She looked over and saw Casa, rifle in hand. She'd been the source of those final shots taken at the Target. Nova had a slight pursed lip, slight smile at this as she returned the security guard's firearm and walked out without a word.

* * *

**The following evening**

Saraslha was inside Casa's apartment, and using Casa's computer to hold a video call with Admiral Horner.

The Admiral was composed, but spoke with a low intensity, _"Saraslha, I'm only going to ask this once: Did you violate the laws of the Haven Republic during the infiltration of their capital building by a foreign agent?"_

"I did." Saraslha said.

"_And were you made explicitly aware that you were to respect the laws of the Republic during your parole in their territory?"_

"I was."

"_And finally: Are you ready to accept your punishment for violating this order?"_

"I am."

Horner knitted his fingers, still composed. _"I've discussed the matter with Chief Councilwoman Tana Strommen, and left it up to her to decide your sentence, as the party she represents is the aggrieved."_

Saraslha said nothing, so Horner continued, _"In light of your contribution to the destruction of a dangerous feral zerg in the Alfhild region, the fact that no party was legitimately harmed by your tampering, and the evaluation that, in the Chief Councilwoman's own words: 'you meant well,' she has decided that you are to issue a formal apology to all members of the Republican Militia for deceiving their personnel, and contribute no less than ninety hours of community service, with the rationale being, in her own words: 'It's harvest season and they need all the carrot pickers they can get out there.'"_

Saraslha leaned back in her chair, exhaling. "Definitely… not the worst punishment I've gotten for violating orders."

"_Indeed."_

"And I meant what I said, Admiral." She became serious; intent. "The Dominion is my Swarm now. If there's a war, I'll fight for you."

"_There's another matter I wish to discuss with you, and it has to do with military matters: How large a brood can you control?"_

"About half that of the average broodmother. Before my growth spurt it was a third."

"_And will you be able to raise a fighting force that size within a day's notice?"_

"With adequate resources, yes."

"_Good…" _He looked downward, frowning with thought. _"The Directorate has broadcast their message, stating they want peace, and that their sole intention is to destroy your mother's swarm."_

"That should be cheerful news for ya," Saraslha relaxed as she said this.

His head shook, _"It's a diplomatic red herring. A fleet that size won't sustain itself on its own supply train forever; they'll need to attack us sooner or later. But right now the Emperor is hesitant; even as we speak he's in conference with his ministers, deliberating over how to respond to the message."_

Saraslha mulled this over, "The Directorate… hasn't declared war on the Dominion, but they've most certainly declared war on my mother with their stated intention to destroy the Swarm."

"_Indeed," _Horner nodded. _"Get a unit together and combat-ready, Saraslha. While the Emperor is deliberating, we're going to be proactive. When I send you the order, you're to leave Haven with your unit and launch surprise raids on Directorate supply lines and outposts. This will be made to look like the responsibility of Zagara's Swarm."_

As she heard this, Saraslha's eyes became wide, excited. "I must say I'm impressed, Admiral. That's a cunning move, given the board at the moment."

If this affected the Admiral, he didn't show it. _"Make your preparations, Saraslha, I'll call on you soon."_


	3. The Battle of Haven

**Co-author's credit goes to Fangtom for idea sharing, literary contributions and the use of his OCs and ideas.**

**www fanfiction net /u/6438087/**

**And special thanks to Consort for the use of his OC, as well as his kind words of encouragement.**

**www fanfiction net /u/8072559/**

* * *

_Koprulu Military Doctrines_

_Subject: Selendis_

_After the Final Battle of Aiur in which the Overmind was destroyed, the victorious Executor Artanis was aggrieved by the dear losses his army has nonetheless sustained, and voluntarily demoted his own rank to Praetor._

_In his place, Artanis had elevated Selendis, vouching with the other leaders of what was then a loose coalition of Protoss that she would do well in the position. In an uncanny mirror to her predecessor, Selendis would go on to achieve a long chain of military victories in the early days of the Brood War while modernizing the Khalai's military doctrine in the air and space._

_The Protoss always believed in quality over quantity, and their air fleets were no exception. The 'Scout' was roughly twice the mass of a Terran Wraith, being armored like a tank while still being a nimble and deadly tactical fighter. _

_Once the coalition had relocated to Shakuras and submitted itself to the political leadership of Matriarch Razhagal of the Nerazim, Selendis didn't request the production of a single additional Scout, instead opting to re-implement the Corsair fighter, a craft which lacked the armor and close air support capacity of the Scout and was thought to be obsolete._

_This would not be the last unprecedented decision to be made by the barely-tested Khalai Executor, nor the last window into the military genius which this writer must assume Artanis saw in Selendis. She would go on to further emphasize Khalai air power in the military campaigns she led, repurposing and salvaging the hulking frames of Carriers and pressuring her Praetors to develop aerial tactics which complemented their use in frontline combat. The result was yet another resurrected power of the Khalai, a doctrine and military force which after the Brood War would come to be known as the Golden Armada._

_Selendis directed a chain of victorious battles which secured the Daelaam's position on Shakuras, including a daring raid on the Second Overmind's hive, the outmaneuver and evasion of a Directorate blockade, the swift suppression of a revolt led by Judicator Aldaris, and a masterfully coordinated defensive battle around the Xel'Naga Temple on Shakuras which is only overshadowed among Brood War defensive battles by that of Char Aleph._

_In conclusion, while Hierarch Artanis is a brilliant military leader, his High Executor Selendis is comparable, leading the Golden Armada whose formation she pioneered. This armada is possibly the deadliest military force the Koprulu Sector has ever seen, threatening the layered defenses of the Terran Dominion and even the innumerable mass of the Zerg Swarm._

0909090909090909090909090909090

Nova was inside Reigel's laboratory aboard the Griffin, watching him dissect a diagram of a pistol on his computer screen.

"The firearm you captured from the Directorate Ghost is quite unlike anything produced in the Koprulu Sector," Reigel said. "Your opting to evade the bullets was a wise call. You would surely have been killed if any of them hit you."

"And why is that?" Nova was leaning back on a wall, her arms crossed. "Are they laced with a toxin?"

Reigel's head calmly shook. "The core of each bullet is comprised of a Jorium composite, which a psychic can train himself to be sensitive to. Either it's a tracking mechanism meant to keep a marked target's position compromised, or a channel for some sort of psionic attack."

"That kind of weapon sounds complicated." Nova deadpanned. "A rifle is superior in nearly every respect."

"Ah, indeed. You're speaking of your rifle, which was sliced in half by the enemy agent."

Nova's brow furrowed with annoyance. "Is there a reason you've chosen to bring that up, Chief Tech Officer Reigel?"

Facing away from her, Reigel smiled with amusement. "After rebuilding that rifle for you, I took the liberty of adding a cosmetic detail."

"A cosmetic detail." Nova inhaled through her teeth, "what, pray tell, did you change about my gun—"

"A cartoon cat with a grumpy expression, engraved on the stock."

There was a standing order that any changes to Nova's equipment be run by her first. "Dammit, Reigel. I didn't give you permission to—"

"Poke fun at you, November? I'm lying. The rebuild is identical. There are no engravings on your rifle."

Nova felt mildly flustered at this. "Why exactly are you acting stupid? You're the opposite of stupid."

"Ah, 'stupid.'" He said slowly, smoothly. "Such as getting angry over a cat?" He turned around from his screen and moved closer to her en route to a workbench, hands clasped behind his back as he moved at a fluid, patient pace. "Or letting your opponent get close enough to slice your rifle in half."

Nova paused at this, had to bite back her retort, and then could only exhale, looking downward as her mind wrapped around Reigel's mental gymnastics. "Why… why oh why do I repeatedly lose arguments against you?" Her gaze peeked upward, making eye contact with some hints of warmth seeping through in her expression.

"I sincerely hope I'm the only person you ever lose to… Commander Terra."

"When we're alone…" She inhaled, "Keep calling me November?"

"No." Reigel deadpanned, his eyes on his workbench.

Long seconds of silence.

He looked toward her, and she was cracking up with laughter at this. He smiled gently.

She stood straight from leaning on the wall. Reigel's gaze returned to his work. "I need a sidearm," she said in a once again plain, business-like voice tone. "Add or subtract whatever features you want, I trust your judgement." She headed to a nearby powered door, which opened as she approached.

"Consider it done, Commander," he said easily. "It will be available to you in three hours."

09090909090909090909090909090

**The Superbattlecruiser Durendal**

Field Marshal Carolius entered a laboratory floor, and was greeted by a diminutive woman in a white coat. Upon seeing him, she spoke, "Field Marshal, it was not necessary for you to come down here yourself."

"You say Agent Pyke's ready for another assignment right after the mission on Haven. I want to make certain that your certainty is warranted, Doctor Franklin."

"He's right over here, Field Marshal." She walked ahead of him, moving a hand to indicate a young man inside a mostly enclosed pod. One of his hands was bandaged, and there were thin tubes attached to dedicated ports on his left arm and neck. "Agent Pyke's psychological state remains stable, and within two hours his physical state will return to one hundred percent."

Carolius' hands were clasped behind his back. "I'd hate to see the golden boy of the Chapter Black Project go belly up. Their program might not have a reason to exist otherwise." He spoke in a passive, observational tone.

"Yes… indeed." Doctor Franklin said with some hesitation as she adjusted her spectacles. "The only success out of one hundred test subjects- but nonetheless a success. No other psionic agent matches him in any field of performance."

"That Dominion gal he recently fought might beg to differ." Carolius said absently as he lifted a hand and scratched his chin under his beard.

A smirk from the short, skinny doctor as her spectacles glared her eyes out of sight, "their next encounter won't be so evenly matched, I assure you. Every tactic she used has been committed to Pyke's memory. The Dominion's own psionic agents are on borrowed time."

"Warm as any other news I'm gonna get out here," he stated in a relaxed, yet authoritative tone. Pyke's eyes opened, and Carolius looked at him. "I'm glad you're awake."

The Ghost stared at the old man, his expression relaxed.

Carolius continued speaking, "you've done a fine job on Haven, bumpin' our spy before he could squeal. I've got another assignment for you."

The young, silent Ghost nodded, attentive.

Carolius nodded in turn. "You're gonna be sent to Korhal."

09090909090909090909090909090

Meribel Flynn's boots were lain atop a table within a mess hall of the Durendal, with her back propped against the wall. A moderate, thudding headache lingered from only being brought out of cryosleep that morning. The din of chatter, people eating and exhaust fans inside the nearby kitchen echoed through the metallic room.

The voice of a squad mate next to her, "so the Dominion use a lot of these 'Vikings,' and apparently it's able to transform into a walker with gatling guns."

"Whoever designed something like that must be a genius." The voice of somebody across the table. "I'm a little nervous of encountering them now."

"Aaaaaagh," Flynn groaned in annoyance, speaking with a thick Scottish accent. "I'm not scared of some tin can that goes waddling in the dirt. 'Sounds like a damn turkey, I'll gun down every last one."

She saw the man across from her roll his eyes, "famous last words…"

"What was that?" She shot into motion, bringing her feet down to stand up, leaning over at him as her red hair shot past her face from the sudden motion. "You got some profound fuckin' point you're itchin' to make, Larry?"

Another man, who'd been sitting next to her interjected. "Let's avoid making a scene, Major—"

"Shoosh, I'm talkin' to Larry, Kyle." She said gently to him without taking her eyes off Larry.

"I'm just saying…" Larry's brow raised as his eyes shut. "It's foolish to underestimate the enemy. That's a very quick way to get you and your entire air wing killed, Major Fly-"

She pounded the table with enough force to shift everybody's food tray. "Let me tell you somethin' Corporal: You're free to act like a damn coward and show the enemy your tail pipe. Me and my Fourty," she indicated herself with her other hand, and then Kyle next to her. "The best pilots in the whole damn fleet will be comin' on top of 'em to rip their sorry colonial tin cans to shreds, then I'm gonna roll 'em up in a ball and stuff them up Mengsk's arse, and if _anybody_" Her voice elevated into a shout; a scene that grabbed the attention of other soldiers in the mess hall. "Gets between me and doin' that, they're gonna get the same, you understand?"

Many long seconds of silence, with several dozen quiet people staring at her.

"The hell are you lookin' at?" She said, addressing them.

Kyle, who'd kept his composure, only sighed at this.

Larry, the man she'd gone off on, got on his feet, turned and walked away without a word.

That was it. The only thing Flynn hated more than being stared at was being ignored. "Don't turn your back on me you—" She scrambled over the table and tackled him. Larry's face had turned to react with a look of genuine shock as Flynn grabbed ahold of his flight jump suit and wrestled him to the floor.

A raucous din erupted in the mess hall from this display of violence. As Flynn grabbed ahold of Larry's hair and twisted it, her own flight suit was grabbed from somebody above; another man, a friend of Larry's who pulled Flynn to her feet and then socked her in the face.

She reeled back from this blow, feeling lightheaded as she regained her footing, her legs bumping against one of the bench tables of the mess hall.

Flynn looked toward her opponent, and saw that Kyle had gotten close to him, nimbly dodged his punch and grappled the outstretched arm, pulling him further off-balance as he kneed him in the stomach and followed with an elbow drop to his back, dropping Larry's friend face-down into the floor. The crowd of spectators erupted into bloodthirsty applause at this.

As Flynn shook her head to shake off the headache from a combination of cryo sickness and the punch, she felt Kyle walk past and grab her arm, pulling her along, "let's go now, Meribel." He said with a subdued tone of agitation.

"What? No…" She drawled. "I'm not done with that prick—Let me go, Kyle."

The crowd of gathered pilots and crewmembers chanted for the fight to continue as Kyle filed past them, Dragging Meribel Flynn along.

09090909090909090909090909090

It was just before the crack of dawn as Saraslha stood alone in an open grass field.

A Dominion dropship approached her position, entering a hovering state not more than 10 meters above the ground as the exhaust of its engines caused the wild grass of the field to wave and whip. When it reached this stable position, its landing gear deployed as it descended further to set down on the ground. The engines lowered to an idle.

The front door opened on the ship's hold. A man in a uniform denoting Dominion Logistics was standing at the far side of the edge with a hand gripped on a wall rail. He made eye contact with Saraslha. "There's a lot of wildlife in these parts," he said.

"True," Saraslha said. "But I dropped my gun in a well."

The man nodded at the code phrase. His head turned around to the ship's hold as she shouted, "she checks out! Drop the load!"

A pair of rails shot out of the open front of the hold, then a shipping container was ejected out to lay on the ground.

With this, the logistics officer saluted as the hold door closed, and the dropship's engines hummed louder as the craft lifted off.

Alone in the barely lit, and now quiet field, Saraslha rubbed her hands together as she approached the doors of the container.

"The hell's in that thing?" A new voice.

Saraslha jumped at this sound, turning to face the source. Branson was surprised as well, having failed to detect the source as it approached.

Saraslha saw nothing in the direction the voice came from. But then sensory data fed to her by Branson produced a humanoid outline. It was tall, with short hair, with a dark grey trench coat. "Constance, is it? Are you going to make a habit out of stalking me?"

Constance decloaked, her arms crossed as her face maintained a deadpan detachment. "I was testing your little football, there." She said this while looking at Branson. "He might need a few tweaks if he's going to save you from being gutted." She had a sadistic grin as she said those last words.

"Thanks for the lecture, human." Saraslha said sarcastically as she turned back to the container.

"Anytime, Saraslha." Constance said. "Just one of the things we more civilized races can add to your animalistic palette."

"I always did entertain the idea of learning more about the recreational features of humans, like verbal pissing matches and reality television."

"Oh, how witty. How very witty." Constance said insincerely as she stepped closer. "Now what's in the container?"

"Two drones."

Constance had a sudden frown. "I'm positive I hate what I just heard."

"I need an army, and I have permission, so if you kill them it's you who'll get chewed out."

Constance nodded upward, her arms crossed. "The idea of a hive cluster on my planet makes me sick to my stomach."

"Just put it in the same basket as Uther, and the other tame infested. You seem to have found a way to live with them."

"You let the drones out of that container, and I will kill them." Constance said in an unaffected tone.

"I'm not going to open it for a couple of hours. I need to take control of them so they don't run off."

"And that takes two hours? Why?"

"Because they belonged to somebody else before becoming feral. It's a security measure to prevent rogue controllers from flat-out stealing broods."

"Pft," Constance turned to pace away. "Zerg and their power games."

Saraslha's moderate annoyance made its way to her voice tone. "Is there a reason you're here, Constance? Out and about bugging me at five AM?"

"Yeah," she turned around to face her. "You're heading out on a covert strike soon, and I'm going with you."

A pause, and a flat expression from Saraslha. "Why?"

Constance's gleaming black gauntlet was raised, as though holding an object. Then her fingers closed, as if crushing it, "because Haven is my home, and I'm not about to sit here and let the Directorate attack it. You're striking first, and I want to be a part of that."

Saraslha blinked slowly, then she turned back to face the container, taking a deep, patient breath. "War isn't a game, Constance."

"I understand that, intimately."

"And it's not a hobby house where you indulge your emotions. There can be no time spent on frustration or fear, it's just—"

"Business." Constance completed. "Calm and cold. I'll follow orders, I'll move fast and I won't take detours."

Saraslha processed this silently, then her brow raised. "How fast can you run?"

"With my psi conditioning, thirty five kilometers an hour on flat terrain."

"Good enough. For how long?"

"All damn day."

"Also good enough." Saraslha's face turned to look at her again. "You'll need to change your getup though. Switch to something that will keep you alive on hazardous planet surfaces and the vacuum of space. If you're gonna travel with me and my brood, you have to survive where we can survive."

"I'll wear my environment suit. As long as I get to gut Directorate pigdogs, I'll find a way to be content."

"Fighting alongside zerg..?" Saraslha said cheekily.

"Using them as cannon fodder like the depraved insects they are, yes."

"Come now, Constance." Saraslha made eye contact. "They're _powerful _depraved insects."

Constance maintained Saraslha's eye contact for many long seconds. "…When are you setting off?"

"Twenty hours from now, late tonight. My transport is going to land in this exact area."

"I'll be there," Constance turned to leave. "And I'd best see you at the Jacksons' field in two hours. Those carrots aren't going to pick themselves."

"Right, between raising and leading an army against your nation's enemies, I'll be sure to make time to pick carrots."

"You agreed to it," Constance said from a greater distance as she walked away. "You may be a zerg, but I expect you to keep your word."

Saraslha let that be the last word, and was left alone with the container in the clearing in the woods. A gust of wind caused the grass to visibly flow as the sun continued to rise, brightening her surroundings. She smelled something peculiar in the wind, and it wasn't long before Branson alerted her of heavy vibrations in the ground.

It had deliberately given away its presence, and was approaching slowly, patiently. Rustling in a distant treeline, the sound of snapping limbs, it became visible.

It was another ultralisk. This one was notably larger than the feral beast from yesterday, its carapace more laden with scars and off-coloration despite being wholly intact. Its head shell was an ovular bulb, larger than the typical shield-shaped head, indicating a large brain mass having integrated itself inside. It walked well below its maximum trot speed, patiently approaching Saraslha and imposing its height and volume over her. She remained put and let it approach.

"I'm going to guess…" Saraslha opened the conversation. "That living in hiding is really boring, and you loosed that ultra on me for shits and giggles?"

A telepathic voice from the brain mass inside the ultralisk. The voice was deep and smooth, _"Such… frivolity would degrade my purpose. I sent that strain to your area, and then severed my link to it in order to test you."_

"You sensed me here the moment I entered orbit, and were just waiting for me to get away from large collections of humans."

"_Your assumption is correct. The humans' claim on this world shields me from your mother's Swarm and the Protoss, so long as I remain hidden from the humans themselves."_

"You really are a crafty son of a bitch."

"_It was my desire to learn how much you'd changed since Sephulli. I have determined that subjecting somebody to a battle for their life is the only reliable way to examine their mind."_

"That's…" Saraslha cracked up with laughter, "that's freaking crazy, Vaus." Her head shook as she smiled, "god, I've missed you."

"_Your tactics remain creative and adaptable, but your choice of allies is questionable: a small force of your own strains could have dispatched my strain with minimal struggle."_

"That's absolutely true, but those allies have potential I find worth cultivating."

"_You take pleasure in their company as well, even the one who insults you."_

"Those feelings bled over to you, did they?" It's not as though she made an effort to conceal her emotions to other zerg who might be sensitive to it. "It's true. They also tend to have thoughts that interest me—"

"_Why do you work so intimately with these humans? Is your allegiance not to your mother's swarm?"_

Saraslha stopped speaking, wincing uncomfortably as she looked away. "Not… not anymore. I've been exiled."

In the past, when Vaus fled from the planet Sephulli, Saraslha had sentenced him to exile, declaring that he'd be killed if he encountered the Swarm again. If Vaus felt or thought anything in regard to her being afflicted with the same sentence, he did not show it._ "And so you've given your allegiance to humans?"_

"I'm not like you, Vaus. I don't want to be alone and hunted." Saraslha's head shook, and she looked up at Vaus' eyes. "Enough about me. What have you figured out, in your time alone to think?"

"_I have learned a great deal, about the Swarm, what my place in it had been, and the course of history while I was dormant. I was satisfied to learn that the Queen was triumphant."_

"A vindication, of your unconditional loyalty to her," Saraslha said.

"_I did not know it consciously, but my loyalty was founded on the conviction that she was the future of the Swarm. Its savior, and the progenitor to a new era of evolution. All of this proved to be true."_

"And you'll only come out of retirement to serve the next visionary who will advance the Swarm."

"_That is accurate."_

"How…" Saraslha looked off. "How do I measure up?"

A lull in the conversation as the natural breaths of Vaus' ultralisk body reverberated through the air in the open grass field. _"I sense you are full of doubt. The Queen never doubted, even when her judgement was mistaken."_

Saraslha exhaled, "I see—"

"_Looking upon the Swarm as it is now, compared to the past, the Queen remade our race to suit her desires. With the same power, you would remake the Swarm to suit your mother's desire, or at least your estimation of what she desired, in an effort to win her affection. Whatever creativity and vision you possess, you do not fight for it."_

Annoyance crept its way to Saraslha's voice, "I get the point—"

"_Whatever powers of persuasion you possess, to enlist the aid of that human whose mind bleeds with anger toward our kind, it is irrelevant to the Swarm. Zerg do not lead by persuasion, but by force of will."_

Saraslha looked down on the ground, her brow furrowed as her fist clenched tightly.

A minor tremor vibrated through the ground as Vaus took a single step forward. _"Your will has become weak. It has become subservient. My imperative is to serve a master, not another servant."_

"I can't go back to what I was." Saraslha finally spoke. There were breaks in her voice. "So cocksure, so arrogant." She looked up at his eyes, glaring with discomfort. "I thought I was smarter than everybody else."

"_You had confidence."_

"I involved large numbers of people in a personal campaign, and a lot of them died."

"_You had ambition."_

"I gave Rindell an order that led to her mental disfigurement."

"_You led by force of will. The humans you've allied with will obey your commands out of common cause. It is not you they follow. It is not you in which their faith is placed."_

"I'm okay with that. With my allies having a common cause, rather than submitting to my will."

"_You are at harmony with being weak." _Vaus' telepathic voice became forceful. _"With submitting your own will perpetually to any force that chooses to use you. You do not lead, and you do not discern your master. You have become—"_

"That's enough, Cerebrate." Saraslha said.

His voice paused, and Saraslha's skirt expanded and stiffened. She flew up to his face, meeting his eyes with her own. "All zerg should submit themselves to a higher authority. Those who don't are animals, living, laboring and evolving for the sake of a shifting abstraction that amounts to nothing."

"_That higher authority is the Swarm's ruler. Something you now seem determined never to become."_

"Even the Overqueen." Saraslha nodded upward. "Even she has to submit to something above herself."

"_Submit herself to what?" _He snapped.

"That's up to her, but it can't be nothing. It can't be a shifting internal will, subject to what she wants in a given instance; that's undisciplined, it's weakness." While levitating in front of the Torrasque's face, Saraslha's hand lifted into view of her eyes. "I choose to serve the Dominion, because my actions on Korhal cost them. What sort of worm would I be if I squirreled out of owning my actions and continued on with my life as though nothing happened? How pathetic is the creature that doesn't live in the reality where a rock is a rock and I did what I did?"

"_You speak of justice…" _Vaus trailed. _"It is a concept invented by weak Terrans and Protoss to control the strong."_

Saraslha had a smile on her face. She turned in midair, then flew away as her telepathic voice reached out: _"I aim to regain my dignity. It's thieves, not the productive who need be concerned about justice."_

"_Farewell, Saraslha. Do not seek me out on this world, for soon I will depart."_

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As the sun illuminated the cleared green fields and receding woodland of Haven's populated region, Casa was at a makeshift shooting range, staring down the distance with binoculars and wearing earmuffs.

The sharp thud of a gunshot echoed right next to her, from a man in CMC armor holding her 6-foot rifle. A target 500 meters away was shattered in a conspicuous explosion of debris. "It's a hit," she reported.

The man shifted slightly as he pulled the lever action, ejecting the spent shell casing and racking a fresh one. A half-second after this, the gun discharged again, destroying the next target. This cycle repeated until the magazine depleted.

"That's six hits out of six shots taken," Casa said as she lowered her binoculars. "It looks like you've still got it, Mullen."

"It's coming back to me I 'spose," the middle-aged man said as he set the rifle down on a slab of concrete in front of them. "These penetrator rounds will be useful against heavy armor. I'm going to use this gun when the invasion comes."

"And I don't mind that at all," Casa said. "Power armor isn't my comfort zone, I much prefer stealth."

"Guys," Constance appeared and walked up to them. "Saraslha's heading out to hit the UED tonight, and I'm going too." She stopped near them.

"My goodness," Casa looked mildly surprised.

"You probably shouldn't be talking about stuff like that, Miss Hai," Mullen said as he turned to face her. "We might be in earshot of people."

"I don't need to be lectured outside class, old man." Constance said.

His head shook inside his bulky CMC suit. "You're heading out to war, yet still hanging on to your sass."

Casa spoke while facing Constance, "Mullen is bewildered by you."

"She's assured an early grave if she doesn't grow up fast," Mullen said as he picked up the 6-foot rifle and walked away, the servos of his power armor humming as each step created a thud.

Constance watched him leave, saying nothing.

"What, no angry rebuttal?" Casa said with a detached smile as she moved past Constance, and they walked together.

"Nah… Mullen's a skilled warrior. There's only so much I want to talk back at him."

"If what you're saying is true," Casa said, "and Saraslha is heading out to hit the Directorate, then it will be the first time since Korhal she's tasted blood; taken human life."

"Yeah, your point?" Constance said.

"You'll be there with her. I need you to pay attention to her mental state and tell me how it's affected."

"Oh… right, you're her handler and need to keep tabs on her."

Casa's expression sobered, showing the slightest hints of a potential rage boiling near the surface, "Mullen is right, you have a bad habit of talking about things in places you shouldn't be talking about them."

"Just tell her the truth," Constance said. "You act all buddy buddy, why keep secrets?"

"Because if she knows I'm the Dominion's eyes and ears on her, she'll withhold words and patterns of behavior that I would need to see."

"So you're being dishonest so she won't be dishonest to you."

"Yes." Casa said plainly.

"That makes no sense to me."

"You hate Saraslha. Why would you care if I'm withholding information from her?"

"I hate the _zerg_, and have accepted Saraslha as part of my life for the time being. She'll do a hell of a lot more to protect my home than a mewling puss like Marcus."

A new voice, "So glad you think so highly of me." Marcus was right there, standing by an exterior wall of the academy. "Tell me Constance; have you beaten up enough people to be satisfied?"

"You know I'll never have enough." Constance said with a hand on her hip and half-smirk. "Maybe you'd like some fresh bruises on your face?"

Marcus walked toward her. "People are saying that if war breaks out you're going to head out and fight right away. Has beating people up become too dull, and now you have to satisfy yourself with taking human lives?"

At hearing this, Casa shook her head and walked off.

"It's war, you dipshit." Constance said to him. "And it's a reality of life whether you accept it or not."

"A reality of life because of people like you."

Casa heard this while walking away, stopped, and turned to face the pair.

Constance's expression was blank, shaped by an anger which welled up to such an intense state that it could only be detected by people in the same psychological depths. Her idle, subdued posture was ready to break every bone in his body, her silent vocals ready to shoot venom into his ears. But despite all this, she spoke calmly, and what she said was not loud, _shut up,_ and not an explanation; _I'm protecting you_. She walked past him. "Meet me in the sparring ring at five o'clock P-M. If you don't show up, then your dear deceased pappy will see just what a coward his little boy became." As Constance walked past Casa, they didn't react to each other at all.

Marcus shook at this, inhaling through his teeth. "Don't you dare talk about my father you bitch."

Constance said nothing and continued to walk away.

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**Late that Night**

Saraslha and Constance disembarked from a landed dropship inside the hangar of a spacecraft orbiting Haven. The hangar was dimly lit, with metal scrap and garbage littering its floor. Trails of rust decorated the structural seams and doorframes of their metallic surroundings.

"So, what do you think?" Saraslha said as they headed for one of the doors.

Constance was looking around, "it's a piece of shit."

"True that," Saraslha said in-step. "But a piece of shit with potential, no?"

"Whatever you want to tell yourself," Constance said. Another dropship landed in the same hangar behind them, opening its hold to release a cluster of roaches and zerglings under Saraslha's control. An overlord came through the atmospheric barrier for the same purpose. "Did they give you a crew?"

"A handful of pilots and engineers. Horner told me to find whoever else I needed myself."

"Good luck finding people who will take orders from a zerg."

Saraslha shrugged nonchalantly at this. "That won't be a challenge. Humans have a staggering tendency to obey those who've harmed them in the past. My being a zerg won't be an issue if I'm talking to them and signing their checks."

"That statement is insane," Constance said. "You can get somebody's compliance through violence, but only on the surface and only in the short-term."

"I agree and that's not my point: My point is that past violence doesn't interfere with voluntary relationships if there's something to gain. That's why my mother is trading with the Dominion despite her predecessor razing their worlds and popping their last Emperor like a balloon."

"People don't forget past transgressions. The desire to get even lasts a lifetime."

Saraslha smirked at this as they walked through a corridor of the old ship. "I have no doubt, right now, that you're thinking about where to stab me for the most damage, and when to stab me for the most surprise factor."

"It really seems like we're connecting because that's exactly what I'm thinking about right now."

"And you're not going to do it as long as I'm helping you against the Directorate."

"You know," Constance said. "You never told me what you think of the Directorate."

"They've reigned unchallenged in their own region of space for generations, while the Koprulu Terrans have been hardened by conflict. I look forward to seeing their first major engagement and how they measure up."

"Is power the only thing you view as important?"

"That, and the purpose which power is used to serve."

Constance looked indignant. "And now you're going to tell me that zerg have a purpose."

"When the Overmind invaded Terran Space it was for the sole purpose of finding one who could become our new ruler. Then when she invaded the Dominion it was to find Xel'Naga artifacts. Our violence is committed for a purpose, and however meaningless that purpose might be to you or unpleasant the violence, the purpose is there."

"Then what was the 'purpose' of your actions on Korhal?"

Saraslha looked off, frowning uncomfortably at this topic. "To prove I was smarter and better than Kuraski in any way I could, and then hear my mother tell me how well I did."

"That purpose sounds juvenile, Saraslha."

Saraslha continued looking away uncomfortably.

As they approached a powered door, it opened to reveal the ship's bridge. "…But at least you're honest." Constance continued, "and that makes you infinitely better than the Directorate, talking about wanting peace while they fly around with that warfleet—I'm going to rip their guts out, Saraslha, we both are."

Saraslha looked toward her and noticed that she'd been looking away as well. Then she noticed the gleam of sweat on Constance's dark skin. "Were you working the fields all day?"

"Nah, I had a bit of warming up against Haven's psi trainees."

Saraslha had a disbelieving look, "warming up, was it...?"

0900909090909090909090909090

**Not long ago**

"You dare fight me? Come on! Attack!" Constance snarled between breaths, within a fighting ring fashioned out of iron posts and chicken wiring as she strode to Marcus with only her bare fists. The wooden staff she'd been given lay tossed deliberately on the ground near her starting position.

Marcus took a swing with his own wooden staff, and Constance dashed past his reach to his flank, grappled his arm and linked him close while landing 3 shots in a row to his ribs with her other hand. He exclaimed with pain as he dropped to the ground.

Constance circled him impatiently, "get up! Fight!"

Marcus gasped as he picked himself back up. Constance took this chance to advance again, but was caught off guard when he recovered faster than she expected and swung for her head. She reflexively blocked it with her forearm rather than dodge.

Her arm was stunned with sudden pain. She stumbled back to nurse the convulsing limb.

Marcus did not pursue again, but instead seethed, "you're fucking crazy, don't you see that? You look like a god damn axe-crazy murderer."

After a moment to stretch her arm, Constance's yellow eyes gave Marcus cold pause. "The sheep talks mad-shit to the sheepdog."

Constance advanced again; this time blocking Marcus' next swing unflinchingly with the same arm. Unnerved by his unfettered opponent, Marcus jabbed straight for her face.

She grabbed the staff an inch from her face and lowered it to glower despite Marcus' frantic attempts to wrest it free. She spoke with bared teeth. "I trained until my bones cracked!" She yanked hard, pulling Marcus for a heavy slug to the chest with her other fist.

Marcus hardly had any air to grunt as his back slammed against the makeshift cage. He only managed one free gasp before Constance shoulder-charged him.

"So tell me," she growled as she grabbed his dazed head, then threw him to the ground.

She thrashed him.

"When they come," Left punch. "who will fight them!" Right punch. "Me!" She answered and kicked him while he was down, sending her beaten opponent tumbling across the floor as a bloody mess.

The crowd watching the fight clamored restlessly. Constance managed to recognize she crossed a line she would not cross before, but the thought was shoved aside when Marcus' shouting friends jumped over the chicken wire iron fence and charged her from all directions with staffs, batons, and blunt-plastic knives.

Adrenaline swelled through a wicked smile stretched along clenched teeth. The hairs on the back of her neck tingled as she gleefully spun around to count her targets. _'They oppose me.' _"Don't you get it?!" She shouted to no one in particular.

Deflect Johann's baton. Punch his jaw.

Her voice grew guttural as blood boiled hotter. "You think your allies will save you!"

Dive roll to dodge Oswall's swinging staff. Kick Marwood off-balance in the shin.

"When they fail us."

Rise to hook her arm across Kaitlynn's throat, throwing her against the floor.

"You'll all be dogs, barking at the tiger!"

Waylon and Eva attacked Constance with knife and sword respectively. She dodged and parried their limbs with unmatched speed. She attacked Eva as she was preparing a heavy swing, twisting her blade arm with a painful twist before throwing her against Waylon.

The more Constance fought, the more she felt something growing in her head. She was conscious of what felt like a trance as she continued to beat and dominate her peers. She felt energized in the motions of battle; having to consciously focus on keeping her psionic strength in check and her innate psychic energy from escaping her body, even as every beaten foe filled her with rabid glee. In this high, she clawed at her head, feeling a burning disdain towards _everyone_ in sight. She felt possessed, and it felt _good_.

"Fight!"

She felt Darrin crash into her from behind in a tackle. He was heavy with his muscular build, but she didn't topple, and proceeded to grip him and throw his back to the ground.

The edge of her knuckles clubbed down on Redman's skull. As he reeled in pain, she raised her foot to his ribs and shoved him down.

"Fight!"

Constance shouted at the top of her lungs as she powered through Leila's punches to grab her upper body and throw her down.

"**FIGHT!"**

The brawl lasted for only half a minute. With how often people were getting thrown down and attacked on the ground, Constance stood above the rest in both posture and sheer combat presence. When it was over, some scurried out of the arena, some writhed on the ground, and a few had the mind to pull the rest safety.

Murmurs from the crowd, "psycho…" "terrible..."

Constance heaved heavily, more out of the pounding in her head than pure physical exertion. She could sense it even before in seeing their faces – the fear, the dread. After the sight, they feared her. Hate her even.

She laughed, with all the pride, joy, and confidence that filled her spirit like lightning striking the walls of a cage. Let them fear so they recognize her ability. Let them hate her, so they wish she was their ally. She does not need friends in weaklings, only respect!

"When they come, I will not be the one to die first for you!"

Saraslha missed out, but this is enough for domination.

090909090909090909090909090

**The present**

"Constance paused in thought, "yeah sure. They agreed to fight me, and I fight them."

"Yes, I heard," Saraslha said, her mood enlivened at hearing the story Constance told her. "You prolong the fights deliberately in order to get your rocks off."

"Do you think getting beaten up by me is anything worse than what the Directorate will do to them?" Constance said this in a low voice. "Haven needs warriors, not pussies who cry for their mothers whenever they get a boo boo."

"I've only seen a handful of exceptional fighters on this planet."

"Exactly," Constance said. "The vets are one thing; toughest bastards I've ever met, but my generation are a bunch of bean bags."

"And you think beating people up will change that."

Constance shrugged, "at least I'm doing _something._"

"You're indulging your emotions."

"Yeah, do you have a problem with that?"

Saraslha waved off, dismissing the topic as she approached the star map of the ship's bridge and turned it on. "Let's pick our target. Intel has Directorate activity in the Kesserine, Alba and Iine systems, likely to be listening posts or mining bases judging by the scale."

"What can this ship do?" Constance asked as she came to stand near the star map.

"It's a cargo freighter," Saraslha said. "It carries things."

"I'd have asked for something with guns."

Saraslha's head shook, "not enough deniability. These attacks on the Directorate can't be traced back to the Dominion until the Emperor finally decides we're at war."

"I say we hit the Alba system," Constance said. "Right now we're based in Haven, and Alba is the furthest from here. If we're going to be covert then we may as well not shit in the place we eat."

"I concur," Saraslha said as a handful of bridge crew entered the room and took positions. "Alright, boys and girls." Saraslha said with an elevated voice. "Set a course for the Alba System. We're setting off as soon as all my warriors are aboard."

0909090909090909090909090909090

**4 Hours later, Planet Alba II**

Constance watched as a tightly packed column of zerg stampeded through a narrow rock pass leading up to a small mining base. The token number of guards in this base opened fire as the column rounded the next corner. The crack of their guns echoed through the dry, rocky desert terrain.

These gunshots were silenced one by one with morbid discretion as the guards were impaled with spines, and the cluster of fast-running zerglings easily reached the other end of the base to rush down the other armed guards.

"_Are you going to go after the runners?" _Constance telecommuned to Saraslha, who was directing the zerg from a distant location.

"_If they're shooting my brood with weapons, then they're enemy combatants and as good as dead. But I'm not going to waste time chasing down runners when our goal is to destroy their equipment and move on to the next target quickly."_

"_And what's the plan after this?"_

"_They're going to assume a force this small is feral, and pull troops from their main shipping port to deal with it."_

"_Then we hit the shipping port."_

"_Bingo." _As Saraslha said this, the zerg force finished tearing the mining colony and its equipment apart and the head of a nydus worm emerged. They all gathered around it and awaited their turn to be swallowed.

"_And what do I do?"_

"_Head to the shipping port just ahead of my attack. You're my scout and reserve force; if something unexpected comes up you'll need to deal with it."_

"_Got it." _Constance rose to her feet and sprinted back down the rock trail, where a parked vulture bike awaited.

It was only a 20 minute drive at high speed to the shipping port. A small starport platform and set of loading towers were surrounded by mobile field structures and open-air hangars filled with supply crates and Vespene drums. Several SCVs were gathered around a vespene pumping station, servicing it.

As Constance approached this place from the top of a sandy bluff, the ground rattled as the head of a nydus worm poked out of the ground nearby. _"Not as fast as they seem, are they? I got here before it popped out."_

"_I don't know how often you've been underground, Constance, but you can't see anything from down there. Worms need somebody above the surface to spot for them. Your psionic signature is a wonderfully loud beacon for them to follow."_

"_So what am I doing here? Can I head down and crack some skulls?"_

The nydus worm began regurgitating warrior strains. _"Remain on standby at your current position. If you're needed I'll signal you."_

0909090909090909090909090909

2 hours after the raid on the Alba System, Field Marshal Fredrick Carolius was presented in his office with the report on what happened, which included photos of power-armored soldiers who were impaled with spines, eaten away with acid and torn apart with claws. Instead of opining, Fredrick handed the dossier to General Andes, who was sitting across from him. "Tell me what you think."

The large man picked up the report in his thick fingers, then his eyes scrolled through its contents. "The Swarm is launching preemptive raids, expeditionary pokes which will lead into a full-scale engagement against us." He handed the dossier back.

"That was my first thought as well…" Fredrick shut the dossier and set it down. "But the survivors say that the zerg didn't try to run 'em down, the bugs were mainly interested in their machines and infrastructure."

"That bewilders me, sir."

"Understandably so…" The old man was nodding, staring off. "If zerg are fixated on non-organic, non-hostile targets, then it means something human's directin' 'em…"

"You think the Dominion has found a way to control zerg?"

"It's a distinct possibility, given their many years of contact." The Marshal stood on his feet, with General Andes following suit. "I'm gonna need you off the Durendal in three hours, General, and set up at your CnC in Viridium."

"Why the urgency, sir?"

"I'm taking this bird to war, along with the entire Blue Fleet and Hermann's boys." He walked around his desk and headed out, Andes followed.

"We'll be initiating hostilities with the Dominion sooner than expected." Andes said as he followed the Marshal through the corridor.

"They ain't playin' chess with us, they're playing poker, and they've just lain down a bet to see if I call or fold." The Field Marshal said this intently as he walked. "Directorate assets have been attacked, and our response will communicate volumes."

0909090909090909090909090909090

**The same time, Cargo Freighter Belisarius**

"Aaaand checkmate." Saraslha said as she moved a .30 caliber bullet on a digital map of the next planet she'd quickly jumped to after hitting the Umbra system. _"They haven't had time to circulate news of the attack and adjust their tactics, and the same trick works again on another mining colony."_

"_All I've done is move around and watch." _Constance said over telepathy. _"I haven't seen combat."_

Saraslha looked off in the space of her makeshift command center. _"You've been seeing plenty of fightin—"_

"_I mean participated."_

Saraslha leaned forward intently at this, staring at her map. _"Consider the fact that I haven't had to activate you proof that things are going well."_

A pause, _"how many more mining colonies?"_

"_This will be it. I don't want to push my luck."_

09090909090909090909090909090

**Fjellhavn, Haven Republic**

Chief Councilwoman Tana Strommen was handed a small stack of papers, recently rolled off a telegraph machine and hastily stapled together.

"It's from the Directorate, Ma'am." The aide said. "They've delivered an ultimatum."

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**Augustgrad Palace, Korhal**

"Admiral Horner, I'm glad you could meet with me on such short notice." The Emperor said as he stood from being seated at his desk. "I have just received word that not only has Asset Fifteen left the planet Haven, but has cruised across two Directorate-occupied neutral systems aboard a Dominion Core Fleet-registered logistics carrier…" As he spoke, Valerian Mengsk's voice elevated, "and blew up their operations on those worlds—" His gloved hand slapped his desk as his teeth clenched, "I _very _much hope you're aware of this."

"I…" Matt Horner trailed, "..was not aware she would hit two targets consecutively."

"So you did order it."

"Yes."

The Emperor paced away from his desk, straining to retain his composure. "Dammit, Horner. That's an act of war against the UED that I did not authorize you to make."

"War is inevitable, Valerian." Horner shot back. "A fleet that size would only be sent here for one reason. They can't sustain it on their own foraging and supply train for long unless they encroach on our worlds. Field Marshal Carolius' announcement about the Directorate wanting peace is a red herring…"

As Horner spoke uninterrupted, Valerian's eyes turned upward impatiently.

"…designed to delay our response."

"I'm aware." The Emperor said. "My plan, which your adventurism has likely blown to shit, was to keep the prospect of peace talks open for as long as possible, in order to weed out the ideological leanings of all my advisors and ministers."

"With all due respect, Lord Mengsk," Horner said slowly. "My primary concern is defeating the Dominion's enemies, not helping you sort out your cabinet."

The conversation was interrupted by a video call on a large screen mounted on the wall. Valerian answered it with a remote on his desk. The screen displayed a blonde young woman in a white officer's uniform, "what is it, Strommen?" The Emperor said.

"_I don't mean to interrupt anything, but Haven is about to be attacked. Look at this—" _She held up the Directorate ultimatum. "I mailed a copy to your inbox."

Valerian put the letter on display next to the video feed on the large screen. He took a patient minute to read it. "…They're asking you to give them unlimited access to your resources, manpower, living space, as well as allow their military free reign to police your settlements."

"_Exactly." _Strommen said. _"They'd be an even worse overlord than you."_

"You should choose your words more carefully, _Councilwoman._" Valerian said coldly.

"_My deepest apologies, Lord Mengsk,"_ she said with a hastily adopted diplomatic demeanor. _"As soon as this call is finished, I have a mass exodus to direct. I need you to be ready to accommodate my people when he hightail it to your territory."_

The Emperor frowned with thought as he took all this in. "How many people will be part of this 'exodus', exactly?"

"_All of us. The whole Republic is going to pack up and move. We're about three million people, last census count."_

"And you have the carrying capacity to move three million people." Valerian said disbelievingly.

"_After nearly getting wiped out twice, we looked to contingency plans. You'd be amazed how many people you can stuff aboard a battlecruiser, and we've got four. As long as they disembark within twelve hours water and oxygen won't be an issue."_

"If the Directorate indeed intends to attack you, that's a declaration of war against the Dominion as well." Valerian turned to Horner, "what is your assessment of the idea of the Republic standing and fighting, while our forces move to relieve them?"

Horner shook his head, "fighting the Directorate fleet over Haven is a losing proposition. Even if we gained the upper hand, our supply lines from the Core would be too exposed over too great a distance for a prolonged engagement."

The Emperor sighed at this, "…Very well." He turned back to Strommen. "If you think you can relocate three million people during an invasion of your planet, there's plenty of room on Mar Sara, a world well within our sphere and which we can defend if attacked."

"_Great. Your accommodation is greatly appreciated. Signing off." _Strommen disconnected.

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**3 hours later, Haven high orbit**

Field Marshal Fredrick Carolius stared intently ahead from his bridge on the Durendal, watching as the swarm of ships comprising his armada exited warp space. The fleet comprised 650 capital ships, with 25 even larger land assault carriers, 3000 logistical support craft and his own Superbattlecruiser dwarfing all of them. It was only a fraction of the total armada from Earth, and more than enough to send the message he intended.

An intel officer spoke, "Surface scan is completed. The planet has only one densely populated area: this city in the mountains." An image was displayed, showing an overhead view of Fjellhavn. "Surface evaluation shows heavy anti-air defenses; a missile arsenal and delivery systems large enough to rip a capital ship to pieces."

The Field Marshal nodded at this. "We'll land well out of range, and push into them by land. If they refuse my demands of course."

A comms officer informed Carolius that he was live on their channel with Haven, and he spoke, hands clasped behind his back as his slender frame maintained a straight posture. "This is Field Marshal Carolius, addressing the ruling council of the Haven Republic. Your final chance has come to announce your acquiescence to the demands of the United Earth Directorate. Fail to comply, and we will take your planet by force." The Bridge was silent for a full minute after he finished speaking.

"Marshal, we've got a hail from their city," a comms officer said.

"Put it on screen, Philip."

A young woman, Nordic in appearance with a white and silver officer's uniform appeared on screen. She was composed, standing behind a desk with a neutral expression. _"I've received your ultimatum, Field Marshal, and I have an answer."_

Field Marshal Carolius stood patiently, quietly as he waited for her to continue.

She took in a breath, then spoke. _"Any soldiers you deploy on our sovereign territory will be shot on sight. Furthermore, if you do not leave our star system immediately we'll have no choice but to remove you by force."_

The Field Marshal was unaffected. His head shook lightly, looking downward with disappointment toward what he saw and heard. "I don't think you understand your situation, young lady. A lotta boys' lives are hangin' on what you say to me in this call." He raised his gaze to look at her. His wrinkled eyes had a sharpness that could cut stone as his voice lowered to an intense, yet still high pitch, "make, the right, choice, Chief Councilwoman. 'Else I promise, you'll be put in front of a squad when you're captured."

"_If that's your sentiment then call off your invasion and leave." _Strommen said quickly.

Carolius said nothing.

Strommen continued, _"I've seen shit that'd make you wake up in a cold sweat, Field Marshal, while this republic's armed forces through a war of extinction. We stood off against two overwhelming invasions and survived. Our forces were in step with the Dominion's as they fought against alien threats whose ruthlessness make your armies look like boy scouts." _

Her professional composure broke down as she leaned forward, glaring, with a stack of paper; the ultimatum, on her desk being crushed inside her hand._ "And you think you can come here with your fleet of pansy ass tin cans and rule __**us**__? You probably don't know a lot about the End War, but attack this Republic, attack the Dominion, and you'll see exactly what we became to win it." _She abruptly stood straight, her glare persisting. _"I've got a promise to you, Field Marshal, and it's that every man and woman in this republic feels the same as me. We're not scared of you, and we're sure as hell not giving you what's ours."_

Carolius had listened patiently, calm and unaffected as he stood composed. "I could have told you I've heard it all before, youngsters talking up a big game, like it's supposed to be impressive. It gets dull after a while."

Strommen said nothing.

He dismissively focused his attention to the tips of his index finger and thumb rubbing together. "Sheer god-given chance made you a war hero, Tana Strommen, and now you're here in front of me to make a poor decision on behalf of your nation. It's a shame…" a brief pause. "There's nothin' more to discuss. When next I see you, you'll be in cuffs being marched in front of a row of guns."

The transmission ended, and Carolius raised his voice to a command pitch. "Break two hundred of our capital ships into flotillas of five, and blockade the whole planet. The ninth and eleventh armies are boots on the ground. Form the battle line in a five hundred kilometer radius 'round their main city—Phillip." He turned slightly to face one of the bridge's comms officers.

"Yes, Marshal?" His eyes raised from his terminal.

Carolius nodded upward, "Far as the air goes, let Flynn's Fourty know they've got carte blanche outside their city's killzone."

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On Tana Strommen's end, she'd regained composure when the call ended. The atmosphere right outside her open door was frantic as people ran in different directions, orders were shouted across distances. The smell of smoke permeated the Hall of Governance as documents were burned.

A gunshot, out of view outside her office, followed near-instantly by another..

She reacted immediately by taking a sidearm from the drawer of her desk and leveling the pistol's muzzle at the doorway as she stepped to the side, away from the obvious position directly behind the desk.

"God damn_— _You dare?!" A familiar, agitated voice from the other side of the door. "Fucking dead!" Several more gunshots.

"The coast is clear, Ma'am!" A different, also familiar male voice. Tana lowered her sidearm and stepped out of her office to see two bulky figures; one was Mullen in his CMC armor, the other was a tall, pale man in a trench coat holding a pistol in one hand, and covering a bullet wound in his side with the other. An exotically carved metal dagger-axe was slung over his back. The body of a Ghost lay at their feet.

"That lucky—"The pale man said, kicking the ghost's cadaver. "Actually got a shot off at me. I must be getting slow."

The situation became immediately clear to Tana; that Ghost had been sent to kill her, and Carolius made a point of her formal execution to distract her from that possibility. Then her mind went to the wounded man. "William…" She was frowning with concern. "Are you alright?"

"Fine, I'm just pissed."He said as he limped around to survey the area and reloaded his pistol. "Grah! I forgot how feeble the terran body can be." His red eyes met with Tana's, "we've gotta get you the hell out of here. There are no more ghosts as far as I can tell."

"You're bleeding out!"

"Just get me a medic! I need to switch and go to the battlefield now while we still have a fighting chance!"

Mullen spoke up, quiet up 'till this point, "We could really use your expertise in assaulting their hard to reach targets."

The UED ghost suddenly jerked back to life and issued a psychic command, which Mullen immediately sensed.

"William!"

Tana barely registered a thundering flash of light from the internal bomb in the ghost's body before someone tackled her into their arms, away from the suicidal explosion.

Tana opened her eyes to see William holding her in a protective embrace, with his back against the explosion and a shimmering, transparent red plasma shield enveloping them both. He craned his neck in paranoia across multiple directions for a moment before releasing her and the defensive barrier.

"Thank you, William," Tana said briefly before scanning the damage. Bits of body parts, ash, and shrapnel littered the area.

"For fuck's sake," hissed William. "These types of stunts mean you're always in danger."

Mullen received superficial damage with his CMC armor, "Get the Chief Councilor to her ship, William!"

"That's the plan now,"He said as he stopped and turned toward Mullen. "You'll have to battle without me.

"William is right," Tana, still shaken, said to Mullen. "Head to the East Entrenchment, and tell them I said you're in charge." William walked briskly ahead of her, and she followed right behind.

"Aye sir." Mullen nodded at this as he turned headed in the opposite direction.

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Saraslha had returned to Haven an hour before the Directorate fleet appeared. She was knelt in the thick brush and vegetation of the populated region's outer woodland. She shifted her senses to those of overlords; part of the zerg army she'd raised off the planet's untapped biomass and vespene reserves. A Terran field camp had been set in an open carrot field, crushing the vegetables unlucky enough to be caught underneath the foot of a structure or armored soldier. Dropships came and went, deploying more troops and planetside supply depots as the assembled forces formed into a line which would advance toward the city. This base was one of dozens of landing zones formed in a loose circle around Haven's populated region.

But this UED unit was still unprepared, not expecting resistance at their landing site so far away from the nearest town. Saraslha's heart began to race with excitement; bloodlust, a feeling that was shared across all the recently born strains whose minds linked with hers. She felt excited, and they felt excited. She felt a burgeoning bloodlust and rage, and they felt it as well.

Saraslha's will pulsed through all minds linked with her. Zerglings bolted out of the woodland at the edge of the carrot field as they rushed toward the Directorate landing site.

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Six months of training and an 8-year journey spent in cryosleep was what brought Private Alvin York to the situation he was in. Suited in powered armor and disembarking from a dropship alongside a dozen other infantrymen to the carrot-strewn open farm field of his battallion's landing zone on Haven.

Field structures and heavy mechanized forces had also landed in the same area, and the grey metallic textures and white paint of these Directorate forces flooded over and colored Alvin's view.

"_Enemy spotted, move."_

This voice inside his helmet corresponded with a directional nav on the small screen under his visor which he followed alongside the rest of his squad.

He came to an expanse of carrot field, and saw them: zerglings, charging the open field toward them. Private York followed the motions he was trained to make and had done thousands of times during drills. Raising, bracing and then aiming his gauss rifle. Did he have permission to fire..? Yes, against zerg the order to fire at will was implicit unless specifically revoked. He calmly panned his rifle sights to track one of the charging zerglings, and squeezed the trigger.

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Saraslha watched as her zerglings were gunned down. The pain and death of each individual strain were like beats of a heart, pumping more energy, more drive, more sustenance to the elevated mindset of rage and bloodlust she felt and reveled in within the moment.

But even within this emotional high, the calculating faculty in her mind continued to machinate. The zerglings were gunned down before they could reach the Directorate landing zone. Next phase:

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Private Alvin York saw men to his left and right go down, their armor penetrated by high-velocity spines which came from the distant treeline. He'd been briefed; this meant hydralisks. They weren't distinctly visible over the long distance, shade and foliage of the woodland, but nonetheless he and the other soldiers on their battle line made their best estimates and fired into the woods.

His ears were tickled, and his suit vibrated from the discharge of the heavier guns bore by a combat walker behind him as it fired over their infantry line. It didn't take long before the spines were silenced.

"_Line, formed advance."_

When Alvin heard this order he marched forward in rough sync with the rest of the battle line, still keeping his rifle braced and ready to fire.

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Saraslha watched their line advance, relaxing as her index finger tapped on the side of her face in ticking sync with the Terran soldiers' footsteps. They'd done exactly what she expected them to do. The hydralisks were concealed threat, ambiguously dealt with, and now they would investigate in the manner which presented the least risk.

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Tremors in the ground. Private York saw it, right at the spot in the woodland closest to him, an ultralisk charged out of the foliage and rapidly closed the distance toward him. The battle line immediately opened fire, but their bullets did token damage to its thick armor.

Its footsteps thundered, it came closer.

Private York broke off firing and sprinted perpendicular to the ultra's path. Its hammering footsteps were very close, he leaped and dove to the ground, rolling in his clunky armor to face upward toward the sky. The swipe of one of the beast's tusks passed over his view as the wave of air caused by the sweeping tusk splashed harmlessly onto his armor. The dismembered upper body of one of York's squad mates passed over his view as his visor was splashed with blood. The sound of raging gunfire was drowned out by the ultralisk's roar.

"_New contact at six O'clock"_

York's head turned, and he saw that a nydus worm had emerged back at their landing zone.

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From the space she physically occupied far from the battle, Saraslha stood up, turned around and walked off as her clawed hands clapped together. "And a tactical victory for Saraslha!" The landing site she had just attacked was only 1 of dozens being set up in circumference around Haven's populated region. She'd have to pull back soon or else be encircled.

"_Saraslha, what are you doing right now?" _The telepathic message was Mullen's

"_Hitting them at their landing zone." _She said nonchalantly. _"I'll be pulling out soon."_

"_You went miles ahead of the Republic's battle lines to strike on your own." _He stated.

"_Well… yeah." _Saraslha said. _"Every minute I'm not attacking the enemy is a minute in which they become more prepared to receive my attack when it does come."_

"_That's a zerg way to think, and it completely disregards the loss of organization a unit suffers when it traverses to a new location. Even zerg columns can become garbled due to differing speed."_

Saraslha's physical self inhaled to retort, despite their conversation being telepathic, but she had nothing. "_Touche, Mullen. So why are you talking to me? You have orders?"_

"_Commander-in-Chief Strommen wants to ask you something, and it's how confident you are in the idea of boarding and disabling a Directorate Battlecruiser. We're not exactly brimming with crack troops, and your zerg might fit the bill."_

"_In a group of how many Battlecruisers?"_

"_Four others."_

Saraslha processed this for a moment as she emerged into a clearing and an overlord hovered overhead, picked her up and stuffed her into its mouth to be transported in its venthral sac. _"It can be done. Tell her I need a few people transferred to my command."_

"_Whom?"_

"_Constance Hai of Special Forces, a reservist named Casa Ashton, and you." _Saraslha said to Mullen.

"_I'll relay the message,"_ he said, not commenting on her blatant attempt to poach him into her unit.

Saraslha took note of this. _"I thought I'd get a gripe, at least."_

"_If I'm ordered to join your unit, then I'll follow those orders. Simple as that." _Their connection waned as his attention shifted away from it. Saraslha did the same.

And then something alerted her at the site she sent her brood to attack: her ultralisk had been killed. Through the eyes of an overlord she saw an aircraft flying away from the scene, of a model and shape she'd never seen before. A pair of aft-oriented cannons exuded smoke as it flew away.

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The truck Mullen rode in was one of hundreds of civilian vehicles used to move the militia to the front quickly. The shrill whistle of artillery was audible in the air as the convoy came to a fast, but organized park and the ramp in the back of the truck was opened and lowered.

He headed out and ran up the nearest hill, toward the sound of gunfire already erupting.

The enemy was close to their trenches. He could make out the blatantly white silhouettes of their power-armored infantry in the distance past the trenches from his spot on the hilltop.

He raised his 6-foot penetrator rifle, and panned for a target. An armored combat walker was pushing toward the trenches as it shrugged off the concentrated fire of the militia. He fired into its cockpit, and the bullet penetrated the thick steelglass protecting the pilot, causing its guns to go quiet and the walker to cease walking. Such walkers also had effective anti-air weapons, which meant that destroying them would help the next phase of Tana's battle plan go smoothly.

Mullen was in the open. As he racked a fresh shell he walked calmly to the side, going under the shade of a tree and moderate concealment of foliage just ahead of him. Another discharge of his rifle, and another combat walker went silent.

The shrill whistle of artillery shells rang through the air. Mullen heard it, and accessed a radio channel in his suit; the tactical band of this section of the Republic battle line, "This position is compromised, everybody fall back to the second line."

"_Affirmative, falling back."_

The shells impacted into the militia trenches with deadly accuracy, killing any infantry near their impact area and wounding others with shrapnel. The minority of militia with powered armor remained in the trenches laying suppressing fire while the rest filed along perpendicular trenches which led deeper into their defensive perimeter.

4-wheeled light vehicles sped ahead of the Directorate forces, quickly closing the distance to the trenches as their turrets unleashed heavy shotgun blasts into the tightly packed bodies within. The result was a morbid fountain of blood and dirt as the light vehicles making these shots sped away while enduring the small arms fire of the Republic forces.

Mullen hit one of these light Directorate vehicles, killing its driver just before it came close enough to the trenches to fire down into them. He quickly racked a fresh shell and killed another as he calmly continued to strafe to the side. A less powerful bullet from an enemy sharpshooter in the distance ricocheted off his armor.

Mullen lifted his rifle and sights to the distant treeline in retaliation, continuing to make himself a moving target as he hastily scanned the distance for the enemy sharpshooter. A Directorate aircraft strafed dangerously close to the ground, discharging two heavy kinetic cannons as it recovered from the dive. The cannons were rear-oriented, and propelled it away form the ground at a higher speed.

It was taking too long to find the sharpshooter. Mullen turned his back and retreated.

090909090909090909090909090

Tana Strommen was aboard the bridge of a battlecruiser in drydock. From this vantage point over the ship she saw that several feet of mountain snow covered the top surface of its hull. She and William were there early, and she'd gotten word that the crew were on their way.

She took out a communicator, "Smith, report on the evacuation."

"_Going as smoothly as we could expect. The population should all be aboard the Battlecruisers Eugen, Bolero, Elephantus and Eternal in two hours."_

"Understood, carry on with the plan, over." She ended the transmission, then turned to her companion, "I hope you didn't leave anything of value in your home, William. The Directorate will be controlling this planet soon."

"I brought the body and all my memorabilia, that is enough for me. I could say the same to you." He was leaning back against a wall and massaging the wounded side of his body, eyes glowing from strain as an embedded bullet began to surface from the hole.

"Aren't you worried about Constance?"

William simply stared at the bloodstained bullet floating telekinetically over his fingers, before it was crushed and tossed aside. "Of course. I can only hope I've prepared her enough." He moved to change the subject. "I'm guessing the Directorate have navigational jammers in place keeping us from jumping from the planet."

"That's right," she nodded. "We need to break through their blockade and get out of range of those jammers in order to escape."

William walked toward the star map, and hit a few keys which zoomed its perspective to the Haven system. _"And that means pushing four interwar Battlecruisers loaded with civilians through a group of five state-of-the-art Directorate capital ships and their support complement."_

"It's a long shot, but I'll be damned if my people are going to live under Directorate rule."

"_What odds.__"_William trailed, thinking. _"I've read and seen plenty about what humans are capable of doing to each other when they have cultural and political differences."_

Tana nodded at this, "It'd be a living nightmare. That's why I'm sending you along with all of our other crack troops ahead of the Republic fleet. You'll board the enemy capital ships and disable them; without their big guns, our own capital ships should have no trouble against their tactical fighters and support craft."

"A mission from you to me? I like that."

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Constance had been ordered to report to the Republic Flagship _Eternal. _She found it at its regular drydock in the concealment of the mountains near the City, with a thick layer of snow sitting atop its hull.

The bridge was reached through the presently empty corridors of the ship, then an elevator lift, then more empty corridors. When she came to the open doors leading to the bridge, she heard a woman's voice.

"Do you think that what we're doing is cowardly? Taking everything and running away, rather than fighting?"

Constance recognized the voice as Tana Strommen. The voice which replied was that of her uncle.

"To abandon everything and run away… that is an admission of a weakness. That's what I would have said before."

"And now?"

"You're doing what's necessary. The people who'd rather live under Directorate rule are free to stay, but I doubt it will be a single person."

"I… William… listen. I feel terrified."

William's face twitched slightly, "You're terrified? A veteran of the End War?"

"When it was just genocide-"

"'_Just genocide.'"_

Tana frowned, "Shut up, William. When it was just genocide, all I had to worry about was fighting for the sake of survival."

"Indeed, it was such a simpler way to see the world. But what about now?"

"Now I worry what happens if we lose this war. We'll be subjugated by a foreign power and be at their whim. I think I'd rather be executed in front of Carolius' firing squad than subjugated."

William's brows rose with reverence. He leaned his temple to her own.

"I have seen your strength, Tana. We all trust in your leadership, as do I. I know you are the type to do everything in her power for the sake of your people." He clasped his hand behind her back over her shoulder. "Trust in yourself, and I will always be right behind you."

Starved emotions threatened to swell yet again, but Tana kept them in check. "Thank you."

"As for our current problem…" He pulled away." What worries me is the Directorate Fleet size."

"Not to worry…" Tana said cordially. "They'll need to spread it out to be able to intercept every direction we could leave the planet. We need only break through one flotilla."

A new voice, from behind Constance as she eavesdropped, "Hello there."

Constance jumped, wheeling around to see Saraslha standing right behind her "the hell?"

Saraslha had a snide smirk, "just testing your awareness, Constance me old mate. Might not want to let yourself be distracted when there are zerg like me stalking about."

"I thought you were out fighting."

"What's left of my brood are regrouping for a last leeroy Jenkins against their mechanized division down south." Saraslha walked past Constance, strolling right into the bridge. "Gotta keep the directorate thinking my irregular forces are still planetside, so they don't anticipate our blockade bust.

When Saraslha entered the bridge, with Constance right behind, Strommen noticed them and clasped her hands behind her back, turning toward them. "Agent Hai, Asset Fifteen, you've arrived on time."

Constance straightened her posture as well, and saluted. "Reporting."

"Alright," Saraslha said. "You must be the Haven leader. Where's your guys and gals?"

"My staff will be here any minute," Strommen said.

"Great," Saraslha's hands clapped as she came to the star map, Constance twitching at Saraslha's nonchalant attitude from behind and out of view. "I'll tell you my plan to get through the Directorate blockade—"

Strommen raised a hand, stopping Saraslha mid-sentence while remaining otherwise stoic. "We've already come up with a plan. Your role is to listen to the briefing and follow orders."

Saraslha stared at Strommen for several long seconds. Tentatively, her mouth opened to speak, "…my plan is probably better."

Constance quietly facepalmed.

"Be that as your opinion may," Strommen said firmly. "Obfuscation, insubordination and wasting the time of those present at this briefing with needless contentiousness will not be tolerated. Is that understood, Asset Fifteen?"

After a painfully long staredown, Saraslha inhaled at this, biting back what she was about to say… "yeah sure. Suck it up, do as I'm told, got it."

"Good."

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"Who the hell does that Strommen lady think she is?" Saraslha said, "talking down to me like her brain works better than mine."

"The elected leader of the Haven Republic," Casa said plainly. "And a soldier who faced down two genocidal invading armies and led battles across the Sector. She gets to talk down to people, Saraslha."

Constance spoke up as the trio walked together. "I seriously can't believe you contradicted her like that, Saraslha. You do realize that you're not royalty anymore."

"Okay guys, I'm just gonna focus on the job at hand." Saraslha said, flustered. "The Strommen lady's plan is full of variables, but also full of precautions. It's competent."

"Sounds like glowing praise," Constance said sarcastically.

"From me? You better believe it." Saraslha said with a revitalized snide smirk.

The three of them stopped speaking as they approached a Directorate field base. They were under the concealment of personal cloaking devices, and walked normally to a makeshift airfield and a landed dropship. An SCV was onloading cargo from it, oblivious to their presence as the trio went up the ship's ramp and into the hold.

They reached the cockpit, and Constance and Casa immediately went to work as the skinny blonde wrapped a garotte wire around the idle pilot's neck and Constance's hands grabbed his head. After a few seconds of his neck being squeezed and his violent struggle to break free, his resistance died down and he became passive. "…Okay," Constance said. "I've got ahold of his mind. Let go, Casa."

She slackened the wire, and the pilot instinctively drew several heaving breaths, but said nothing and didn't fight back.

"Now," Saraslha said. "We wait until he's scheduled to take off and adjust course to a hangar of the target capital ship. There we wait until the Republic fleet is approaching."

"That is indeed the plan," Constance said. "What would yours have been?"

"Put a bomb on several dropships, fly them remotely with my changelings and blow the target flotilla to kingdom come when it's time to break through."

"That's… vicious." Constance said.

"It's war," Saraslha said. "No less vicious than every soldier outside this ship who'd shoot you on sight."

Casa spoke after stowing her garotte wire, indicating her own earpiece, "Mullen has reported that his team have commandeered their dropship. And Agent Terra says she'll be able to board and disable a third."

A voice from the comms speaker of the Dropship's cockpit: _"LD-Two twenty one, your cargo is released and you're clear for takeoff."_

The pilot, with Constance's hands still hovering near his head, reached to press the transmit button on the comm: "Roger that," he said in a monotone. "Continuing my round."

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"Field Marshal." An officer addressed Carolius on the Durendal's bridge. "The Republic forces are retreating on all fronts. The forward recon battalion has pushed into their territory, and is set to cut off the primary column of fleeing militia. We can confirm that the enemy are attempting to evacuate the population."

An exhale of breath, "very good." Carolius said in his soft-spoken tone. "All fronts have the green light to continue the advance. Once their city is reached, our boys are clear to bombard their position until they offer terms. Tell the air forces to cover the forward recon battallion."

"Understood, sir." The officer said as he moved to relay the orders.

Carolius took another deep breath. The evacuation was a product of youthful bravado, and it was getting civilians needlessly involved in the war. He remembered having the same passion Tana Strommen had displayed in his own distant youth, and he also remembered outgrowing it. "There comes a time…" He muttered to himself as he observed the tactical map; the forward recon battallion fast approaching the Republic's evacuation column, "when you need to realize you're out of your depth, and that there's no fighting the inevitable."

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Meribel Flynn and her air wing had only encountered token resistance in the skies over Haven. They'd been free to strafe ground targets with impunity and survey the Republic forces' movements within the land they still controlled.

And now a land battalion was pushing to make a final cutoff on the enemy retreat which would lead to a full encirclement of the majority of their fleeing militia and civilians. She was ordered to provide air support to them; an order and routine to which she was accustomed.

"_I've been target locked!" _A wingman's report over radio. _"A full missile volley inbound!"_

Flynn frowned at this. They were out of range of the city's air defenses, so it had to be an enemy fighter. "Shake 'em and turn it around, Sam. Blast the cheeky fuck out of the sky."

"_I… I don't know where it came from. My sensors are—" _An exclamation of shock, followed by static.

Sam's Goshawk had been destroyed, and he was most likely dead. Flynn felt a chill at this. Sam was no amateur; he was an ace, decorated for over thirty aerial victories in his career. "All craft take a sweep formation toward Sam's last coordinates. We need to locate the enemy!" Sam had been flying in an area where a sizable cloud was moving through. Could it be a hindrance to their sensors..?

"_Enemy sighted," _A squad leader reported. _"Vikings, ten strong. We're moving to attack."_

"Give 'em hell, Kyle." As Flynn spoke into her comms, an alert flared that she'd been target locked. And then her sensors picked up an assailant; a Viking, above her and diving down at high speed.

"Big mistake ye bastard!" Flynn made a sharp turn that rattled her Goshawk's body as the flipping of a switch released high-profile chaff in her original position which would fool the missiles' seeking mechanisms. They exploded in that vacant space, far enough away that her craft was unharmed.

"Come here you prick.. come here!" She lost a lot of speed with her maneuver, and the Viking was closing the distance fast, but she wanted this. As it came closer, she turned her craft to direct its rear-facing cannons.

The Viking anticipated the shot, flipped and let gravity help it descend more sharply. This burst of motion caused it to nimbly evade her Goshawk's kinetic blasts—and certain death.

And then it completed its roll to become upright again as it sped ahead of Flynn's Goshawk. And then she saw the Viking change shape; the beginning of a transformation to walker form, despite their being well over 6000 feet in the air.

The air resistance caused by its halfway transformation made it brake in the air, and then a leg; an expendable piece of itself protruded out as it twisted to position this outstretched 'mech leg in front of Flynn's Goshawk.

It was only Flynn's deeply ingrained instincts that caused her to activate an emergency airbrake followed by a sharp downward dive, barely avoiding crashing into this outstretched Viking leg.

Flynn continued the dive, turning until the Viking, now reverted to ship form was once again in her aft cannon sights. "Fuck you!" They discharged again. It was an awkward shot, fired upward at a target that was moving away form her. They missed.

"_Major, we've got more enemy contacts, all Viking class. There's at least a hundred of them!"_

The Viking which attacked her had disengaged, flying away with its momentum and higher altitude making pursuit unrealistic. It dawned on Flynn; the Republic had kept their air forces in reserve, and whoever commanded them chose now to put them in play. "All squadrons regroup. Move away from the main body of enemy craft."

It was not as though the Republic was using green pilots; she'd been briefed that most of them would be veterans of a major conflict. If they were half as frighteningly skilled as the individual who engaged her, then she didn't want to lose wingmen underestimating them.

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Directorate Colonel Drake Collins of the forward reconnaissance battallion had received intel that the column of fleeing enemies which his battallion was moving to intercept were 80-90% civilians. This meant they would be easy to subdue. After all, one person with a gun can control 100 without.

When his light vehicle carried him over the next hill alongside dozens of other light combat vehicles and lightly armored infantry, he found the column of militia and civilians.

Every single adult was armed, and formed into a loose line formation with their weapons aimed toward his battalion. Tarps were pulled off dozens of their hundreds of trucks to reveal mounted artillery-caliber guns.

The militia opened fire the second the Directorate forces entered their vision, having anticipated their approach. The lightly armored recon troops were mowed down. Colonel Collins' own vehicle was flipped by an artillery shell impacting the ground nearby.

In the dirt underneath his flipped vehicle, Collins' hearing slowly returned from the ringing shock of the explosion. His radio became audible: _"Both flanks are under heavy fire, Colonel. Where's the damn air support?"_

His eyes wandered up, outside the vehicle wreckage, the bodies of his men littered the field, with more following and the savage concentration of gunfire from the Republic's retreat column peppering fleeing vehicles and walkers while turning over the grass in puffs of dirt.

"Retreat." He said into his radio. "We can't take this kind of fire. Wait for the twenty fourth Mechanized to arrive."

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"LD-Two twenty one, you have not been cleared for landing in this hangar. You will disengage and exit the craft immediately!"

Lieutenant Brown was nervous. His men had surrounded the unauthorized dropship, which had cruised through their atmospheric barrier and landed in the hangar of their Battlecruiser. Their captain had refrained from shooting it down due to its friendly IFF tag.

The guns of Brown's squadron were leveled at it, and the high-velocity gauss rounds they could fire would be enough to tear the ship apart along with anything inside it with a persistent enough barrage. He was not getting an answer from inside the ship, and the option of destroying it ticked ever closer to becoming a direct order. He had no idea what was inside it, be it an enemy strike team, a bomb, some idiotic prank, or a legitimate technical issue with the dropship which forced it to make an emergency docking.

The hold ramp of the dropship opened as the sound rang of tufts of air escaping due to depressurization. It opened fully, with Lieutenant Brown ready to give the order to fire at a hair's trigger.

It was just one man, alone—the pilot. "Don't shoot!" He said, his hands raised in plain view.

Brown shouted in a growl, "you will immediately tell me why you've docked in this ship, Ensign!"

There was a pause, the pilot looked confused, bewildered by his situation. "I… don't know. I don't remember anything."

An alarm began blaring over the ship-wide intercom, _"Enemy boarders detected on Deck Fourteen. Repeat, minimum two boarders, detected on Deck Fourteen. Presumed to be psionic agents."_

Lieutenant Brown signaled a couple of soldiers at his flank, "Adder, Koal, arrest the pilot." As the two other soldiers moved to do this, Brown turned and headed for the nearest doors. "The rest of you with me, let's move!"

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Constance leaned back against a wall next to an open blast door, sweat running down her face as she panted from exhaustion. She grit her teeth, moved her hands close together and created a blood-red focus orb. _"How close is their Ghost?" _She said telepathically to Saraslha.

"_Branson still says it's just one. Their ETA is a minute and a half." _Saraslha said this as an ear-shattering succession of discharges came from her gauss shotgun; a suppressive fire aimed down an empty corridor as she backstopped into their small intersection room and hit a switch to seal the blast door behind them.

"_That's plenty of time." _Constance wheeled around and unleashed a cone of psi lightning down the next corridor they'd need to traverse. Every soldier within that tight space was killed or seriously injured.

"_Your claim that your psi lightning could clear an entire room made me confident we could 3-man this mission…" _Saraslha trailed as they sprinted along the cleared corridor. _"But it's taking a lot out of you. A few more shots like that and I sense you're going to drop."_

"_Trust me Saraslha; compared to Master Khalis' evil bootcamp this is a casual stroll."_

"_Tell you what: If you collapse from exhaustion, I'll be happy to put a bullet in your head so you're not tortured and probed for information."_

"_As if! It's not gonna happen."_

"_It'd freaking better not." _When they reached the ship's bridge, they found it deserted, its captain and officers having fled when they noticed that the much more well-armed soldiers protecting them had been killed.

"Fucking cowards…" Constance muttered as she moved briskly to the captain's terminal.

"Okay, so we don't know a damn thing about the Directorate's control terminals or operating system, so at this point in the mission we're just winging it—"

Saraslha was cut off when Constance declared aloud, "found something important!" The sound of smashing glass and pulling a switch.

"_Warning," _An adjutant's voice overhead. _"Emergency reactor protocol nine-two-two has been initiated."_

"I don't know what that entails…" Saraslha trailed, "But why the hell would it be on a switch that anybody with a hand could pull?"

Constance just shrugged, her profile mostly visible to Saraslha through Branson's sensory feed. "Blame their Captain for abandoning his post."

As Constance spoke, Saraslha felt a flare erupt in her mind from her link with Branson. The outline of a 3rd person became visible behind one of the powered doors leading out of the Bridge, _"Constance, your six."_

She tumbled away from the console as her cloaking re-engaged fully. The door opened, and knowing exactly who it was, Saraslha fired her shotgun into the corridor.

It missed. As Branson's feed imposed a fresh outline to Saraslha's senses, she saw a rifle leveled at her.

Then a flash of red.

The bullet narrowly missed Saraslha as it ricocheted off the steelglass viewing port of the bridge. The Directorate Ghost had shifted away to avoid the swipe of Constance's very visible psi blade—and certain death.

"Come on!" spat Constance, "Face me!"

Saraslha aimed her shotgun at the Ghost—no, its spread would hit Constance too. Branson made the Ghost's rifle visible to Saraslha, it was being adjusted within the Ghost's tight space between a wall and Constance so its barrel would be aimed at her.

Saraslha panned the aim of her shotgun to the side, into the wall near them. Then she squeezed the trigger.

The Ghost dropped to the floor, and Constance exclaimed from pain, static appearing on her profile from her cloaking field being compromised. _"What the fuck, Saraslha?"_

Sensing that the Ghost was dead, Saraslha let her shotgun hang naturally at her side. _"Most of the pellets were cushioned by the Ghost. You'll live."_

"_Of course I'll live, jackass. That's not the point. You didn't have to fucking shoot both of us. I had him!"_

"_You probably couldn't see, but his rifle was leveled at you. You were a hair trigger pull from death, and it would have happened if his hand had an easier time reaching it from his awkward posture."_

"_That's not what—you know what? Forget it, let's finish our mission." _Constance said this as she changed location, getting away from the Ghost's body and the puddles of blood as her cloaking field normalized.

"_Emergency reactor protocol nine-two-two will be in effect in five minutes." _As the intercom stated this, Saraslha turned to the steelglass viewing port, the bullet having only left a token mark on it._ "Casa should be here soon with our escape."_

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**Ten minutes earlier**

In the hold of the hijacked dropship, Casa watched as the Dropship pilot was arrested by two power-armored soldiers, concealed from view and discovery by a personal cloaking device. The rest of the squad went with their Lieutenant to deal with the enemy boarding party comprising Saraslha and Constance.

"The L-T wants this ship swept." A voice out in the hangar. Casa began walking, calmly heading down the ramp past the handful of people remaining in the hangar.

"Ronald went to get the sweeping gear. He'll be back in a minute."

Casa scanned the expanse of the hangar. It was filled with neatly arranged landed dropships, with machining benches and toolboxes lining a distant wall, and a pair of parked SCVs in the opposite corner. Casa walked along this isle of dropships, scanning their paint, markings and design until she found what she was looking for; a dropship with a distinct color scheme, sleeker design and lump on its back to accommodate what had to be a Warp Drive. Her assumption as correct that every Directorate dropship hangar had at least one special ops variant.

She entered its vacant cockpit, opened a panel below the control deck and quickly searched out specific signal cables, which she cut and re-attached, routing them through an electronic device she'd brought.

The Directorate used its own operating system and computer code, but their equipment shared many universal principles with hardware used in the Koprulu Sector, such as keys, electronic starters and security boxes that could be bypassed.

The control board came alive, and Casa started the ship's four engines one by one as its hold door closed.

090909090909090

Directorate Lieutenant Brown and his squadron were treated to the morbid sight of dead comrades littering the rooms and corridors of the ship leading up to the Bridge.

"It looks like energy damage," one of his men reported. "Could it be a Protoss?"

Brown could sense the nervousness; the fear permeating through his men. "We're not going to speculate." He said, "keep moving, we need to retake the bridge."

When they reached the blast doors to the bridge, one of Brown's men hit the button to open it. _"Warning," _an adjutant's voice. _"Bridge air pressure has been compromised. All adjacent doors must re-seal, and environmental autonomy is required for all personnel in the vicinity."_

They were all power armored, with their visors down and interiors sealed. "Just open the damn door." Brown said, "Override code seven-seven-two-one-nine, execute."

The door opened as the air in their corridor rushed past them, barely shifting their bulky forms. The dead body of one of their own Ghosts lay near the Captain's console, and a human-sized hole had been cut in the steelglass viewing port, with its edges melted from what appeared to be an energy weapon.

"Carmen," Brown said. "ID this psionic operative so I can report his KIA."

As Carmen went to this, Brown noticed that the Captain's console had been damaged; its keyboard ripped out and thrown across the room. "Anton, get on the CTO's console and try to reverse the emergency reactor protocol."

Another soldier walked up to the hole cut through the viewing port. "This looks like it was eaten through by one of those… psi blades."

"I freaking told you it was Protoss," another soldier said.

Carmen spoke up, "The body is Agent nine-eight-four-zero, callsign "Shroud." Cause of death appears to be organ failure due to kinetic penetration."

"He was blasted with a shotgun." A different soldier said who was also looking at the body. "You think the Protoss have started using shotguns? Bit of a scary thought."

"Cut the chatter," Brown said.

Anton spoke up, "sorry sir, the protocol has already executed, I can't stop it."

An adjutant's voice broadcast to their suits' comms: _"Emergency reactor protocol nine-two-two has executed successfully. Primary systems are powered down, and the vessel's reaction chamber has been rendered inert."_

Their battlecruiser was now a sitting duck in space with no weapons, no mobility and no capacity to enter warp space until the crew restarted the fusion cycle in their reactor, which would take hours. All they had was backup power for life support and lighting.

"Fuck!" A soldier said aloud. "Why the hell does a Battlecruiser have a feature that shuts down its main power source?"

"It can save the ship and everybody on it if there's a containment breach or coolant shortage," Anton explained. "Our enemy simply found the feature and abused it."

As the soldiers talked, Brown observed the distant flash; brief and small, of a special ops dropship entering warp space.

09090909090909090909090

Aboard a nearby Directorate Battlecruiser, Nova Terra had entered an airlock as she lowered the visor of a breathing helmet which melded with her form-fitting environment suit, granting atmospheric autonomy.

The external door of the airlock opened, and she kicked off into the zero-gravity vacuum of space, still matching the ship's orbit over the planet which effectively nullified its gravity.

Her back gently bumped against the metallic wall of the hold of a cloaked dropship. Its hold door closed ahead of her as its interior became visible.

"_Extraction complete," _The Dropship's pilot reported. _"Returning you to the Griffon, Commander."_

As artificial gravity asserted itself in the Dropship, Nova headed to the upper deck of the small craft and saw that the now-distant capital ship's lights had dimmed, and the craft had lost power. When she blew its coolant lines at 7 different locations she expected its fusion core to explode, but they must apparently have a safety measure in place which allows them to quickly shut down their reactor.

09090909090909090909090

"Our troops have entered the city." An officer reported on Carolius' bridge. "They report that the entire place is deserted. There's no resistance… nor is there any population."

Their intel was correct. The Republic _was_ evacuating their population. Carolius indicated part of the 3-dimensional map showing the planet and hundreds of Directorate warships surrounding it. "We've also got intel on their having capital ships. This flotilla has reported sabotage and boarding attempts." He highlighted a cluster of 5 Directorate Battlecruisers and their support craft. "That'll be where they try to break through. Move reserve Battlegroups one fifteen and six ninety to reinforce them."

The Bridge communications officers immediately relayed these orders to the much larger fleet Command and Control deck a floor down from the Durendal's main bridge.

"Marshal," an officer said aloud. "Four Battlecruisers have left the planet's atmosphere. They're heading for the sabotaged flotilla.

He nodded lightly at this report.

"Their iking air wings have also left the atmosphere. They've taken an escort formation around the capital ships." More reports sounding off.

"Incoming transmission from the Republic command ship."

"It's a distraction," Carolius said. "Dismiss the transmission…" But this attempt to distract him had to have been done for a purpose… or no. Strommen was young, and possibly out of her depth. "Move all nearby flotillas to intercept their Battlecruisers. Disable the ships, wipe out their tac fighters and take their councilors and command crew alive if possible." There was no way 4 old Battlecruisers would break through even an equivalent number of state-of-the-art Directorate ships, much less if they were outnumbered 10 to 1 by the Directorate flotillas moving to intercept them. The Republic ships were well within range of the Directorate navigational jammer, and escape was impossible.

Carolius sighed privately. Did Strommen think that his fleet wasn't an organic entity that could respond appropriately to one part of its blockade being weakened? It was an amateur mode of thinking which he saw all too common in people; the idea that you could act on your enemy without any reciprocity; your enemy acting in turn.

The Republic's biggest advantage was the 3-dimensional range of directions from which they could flee the planet. By leaving the atmosphere to engage an obvious target they'd thrown that advantage away.

"Marshal," an officer spoke. "Our tac fighters have failed to confirm visual on the Republic battlecruisers."

Carolius frowned at this, "All sensors state that there are four enemy Battlecruisers at that location. What are our fly boys seeing?"

An image was pulled up of a formation of satellites with their own autonomous thrusters. Their signal dish and solar panel-ridden forms were so stripped down and cheaply made that visible cables ran along their outside hulls.

"These are what our sensors are convinced are a bunch of capital ships?" Carolius asked half-disbelievingly.

"Affirmative, sir. They're broadcasting a believable graviton signature and transmission bandwidth, all of which falls in the range of the mass reading and comms a battlecruiser would give off."

Now, for the first time, Carolius became somewhat stressed. Where was their real fleet? Was it still planetside? Where would it go if it was..?

"A new FTL transmission is being broadcast…" Another officer, "From behind the fifty fifth flotilla." A battlegroup which had remained idle at its post a long distance from the presumed breakout point. "It's… a Warp beacon!"

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Remaining inert, depowered and virtually invisible to the naked eye due to distance, the extreme high orbit of Haven was home to several warp beacons; FTL transponders which would produce a precise warp point for a ship or group of ships locked on to its signal. One of them activated.

2 Gorgon class Battlecruisers, bearing the colors and regalia of the Terran Dominion exited Warp Space near the beacon, accompanied by 16 smaller minotaurs. The heavy guns of these capital ships tore the nearest Directorate flotilla of 5 to shreds while the majority of the fleet was spread out over the planet.

There was retaliation. Every nearby flotilla, along with a fleet of 40 Battlecruisers from the distant reserve group came speeding for the Dominion strike fleet.

The Superbattlecruiser remained idle, not being deployed in the battle.

4 new Battlecruisers; the actual Republic fleet, became visible on sensors as heading for the area protected by the flotilla destroyed by the Dominion strike fleet. They'd been concealed by cloaking technology. Together, the Republic and Dominion ships raced ahead of the pursuing Directorate ships at sublight speed. They breached the perimeter of the Directorate's navigational jammers, and escaped into Warp Space.

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On a stolen Directorate Special ops dropship, which landed inside the cargo freighter _Belisarius_ at its appointed location in deep space, Constance checked her data pad. "It would appear that Strommen's plan worked out. They were able to break through at a section of the Directorate blockade, and our sabotage and decoy satellites were able to draw enough of their fleet away from that location."

"Color me happy for the Strommen lady." Saraslha said as she meticulously cleaned out her shotgun. "Her plan _did_ have enough precautions in place to climb over the Directorate's strategy."

"Let's get to the main topic…" Constance said as she stood up, the dropship's hold opened inside the freighter's hangar. Constance's hand was pinching shut a gaping wound on her shoulder. "Why should I stay part of your unit, after that shit you pulled on the bridge of that ship?"

Saraslha seemed unaffected, but also stood up. "You mean the collateral damage to your shoulder, arm and lower leg?"

"Your shooting me, yes."

Saraslha shrugged, "consider that event a microcosm. It's the same reason the Emperor is fine with letting me fight: however unpleasant I might seem, or how brutal my methods…" Saraslha stepped closer, looking up to make eye contact with the taller Constance, matching her intensity with a more joyous, optimistic look of determination, "I know what I'm doing, and have your best interests in mind."

Constance remained frowning, silent.

"As for why I want you…" Saraslha continued speaking. "That lightning was impressive, you have an enthusiasm for getting done the job we share, and I want to probe the depths of a mind that dislikes me, because that can offer insight about myself I can't find anywhere else."

Constance inhaled through clenched, intense teeth, still staring intensely at Saraslha, "I… am hungry." She said in a low voice. "Once I'm patched, I'm going to get something to eat." With this, she walked out of the dropship, Saraslha watching quietly.

* * *

**This concludes the chapters that were pre-made before the first was released. I can no longer promise a new chapter every week after this point.**

**I'd like to thank everybody who read up to this point for reading up to this point. All feedback is welcome.**

**Have a wonderful day!**


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